


Memories of Freak

by FalconLux



Series: W.I.P. Collection [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU Starts in 5th Year, Child Abuse, Dark Harry, Good Ron and Hermione, M/M, Magical Contracts, Manipulative Dumbledore, Mentions of Rape/Non-Con (Not Snarry), Mindscapes, Rating May Change, Relationships may be added, Sane Voldemort, Slow Burn Snarry, Tags May Change, Work In Progress, snarry, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-11-13 18:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11190396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalconLux/pseuds/FalconLux
Summary: Occlumency lessons reveal a history of horrific abuse and an opportunity for the Dark.  With orders to recruit Harry, Severus takes a more gentle approach to the lessons and an unexpected friendship develops.  Can it survive the revelation of Severus’ true allegiance?WARNING: This is a Work In Progress.  It is not finished.  It may never be finished.  READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.





	1. Memories of Freak

**Author's Note:**

> This is another story that's been posted on FFnet for quite a while that I've decided to bring over here. If we're being completely honest, I actually was under the impression that I'd already done this. I was looking for it on here the other day and I had to look through my list of works twice because I could have sworn I'd posted this story on this site. Oops.
> 
> Anyway, I'm halfway through a new chapter for this story, so I'll be posting that after I catch this up to what's posted on ffnet, so if you've read it before, this might be a good opportunity to reread it. If not, just stick around as the new chapter should be added within a couple of days. I'm going to give the old chapters a quick edit and then post them again, so you may notice a few cosmetic changes between this and ffnet for this story, but nothing that really affects the plot.
> 
> The first eight chapters will be the old stuff - Part 1 of this fic. Chapter 9 will begin Part 2.

* * *

* * *

 

**15 January 1996 - Monday**

“ _Legilimens_!”

Harry stumbled back as the curse hit him, and…

 _Freak woke in the middle of the night, sweating and weeping from that same old nightmare of green light and fear and pain.  He was terrified, and the cupboard was so dark, and_ something just crawled across his leg _!_

_He screamed and wept and pounded on the door, desperate to get out.  He couldn’t breathe.  “Please!  Help me!  Please!  Let me out!  Help!”_

_There was a rumbling, thumping from above him and his panicked mind couldn’t figure out what it was.  Terror spiked sharper and he started screaming incoherently._

_Then, finally, the door was wrenched open and he sucked in a gasp of air at last._

_The large figure didn’t let him out though, and he didn’t help him.  He didn’t comfort him.  He yelled._

_“SHUT UP, YOU WORTHLESS LITTLE FREAK!  SHUT THE FUCK UP!”_

_And then his hand snapped forward, so fast Freak barely saw it coming.  Pain in his face, his ear.  He screamed louder._

_The sharp pain came again.  Then again.  Then again._

_He finally collapsed, curling himself into a ball, quietly begging for it to stop._

_“And you’d better stay quiet, Freak.”_

_The door slammed shut._

_Freak stayed curled up in a ball, struggling to breathe.  His chest was heaving, but he couldn’t seem to get enough air._

_“Freak is sorry.  Freak is sorry.  Freak is sorry,” he gasped over and over again, rocking his small body back and forth, back and forth, again and again, repeating the litany while he slowly regained his ability to breathe._

_“Freak is sorry.”_

Harry landed hard on the floor in the Potions Master’s office, his chest heaving, tears drying on his cheeks.  Fuck, he hadn’t thought about that night in so long…

He scrubbed his sleeve across his cheeks and glanced warily up at the professor.  For once, Snape wasn’t sneering at him.  His face was even paler than normal, his eyes too wide.  The rest of his face was utterly blank as he stared at Harry for a long moment.

Finally, he blinked and the moment had passed.  “Again,” he said slightly hoarsely.

Harry took a deep breath as he pulled himself up, struggling to prepare himself to experience another memory that he’d tried so hard to forget forever.  There was no way in hell he was going to tell Snape that he needed a break, so he forced himself to look up and meet those expressionless black eyes.

_“Legilimens!”_

Better prepared this time, Harry met the attack and held for a split second before…

_Freak’s mouth opened in horror when he saw the plate he’d dropped freeze and hover in midair about an inch off the floor.  He’d been so afraid of it getting broken, because then his uncle would be mad, but this was worse.  This was much worse.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.  He remembered what had happened the last time something unnatural had happened._

_He reached for the plate, hoping to snatch it up before anyone noticed, but then Aunt Petunia screamed, and he knew it was too late._

_His uncle stood up from the table – saw what had happened.  His eyes widened.  His face turned white, and then purple._

_Freak gulped.  He was terrified, but he wouldn’t let something more happen.  He couldn’t handle it if something else unnatural happened.  Uncle Vernon would kill him then.  He knew it.  So he cringed, but did nothing when his uncle kicked the plate away.  It hit the wall and shattered.  Then his uncle grabbed his arm and yanked._

_He yelped quietly, but knew not to scream.  Uncle hated it when he screamed.  When he made any noise that wasn’t in direct answer to a question or command._

_Silent tears streamed down Freak’s face as he was dragged out of the kitchen.  Uncle threw him against the wall next to his cupboard.  He hit his face hard, and a small “eep” escaped him before he cut it off._

_“Fucking worthless Freak,” Uncle was saying behind him, but Freak didn’t dare move.  He couldn’t help that his whole body was trembling though.  “Doing your freakish things in my house.  I won’t have it.  Not in front of my son.  You’ll be the death of us all.  After we took you in out of the kindness of our hearts.  Taking the clothes off my son’s back.  The food out of my son’s mouth.  Worthless, good for nothing…  Just like your disgusting parents._

_“Well, I won’t have it.  I’ll beat that freakishness right out of you.  That’s what I’ll do.”_

_Freak cringed when he heard the clinking of the belt buckle.  Then the sharp snap of the leather being pulled taut._

_“Hold still, you worthless Freak.”_

_Freak tried to stop his trembling, but was only partially successful.  Then the first blow fell across his back like a line of fire and he choked as he tried to hold in the scream.  The first one was always the worst.  Somehow, he was never quite expecting it to hurt as bad as it did._

_A second blow._

_A third._

_He stopped bothering to count then.  Counting didn’t help.  Nothing helped.  All he could do was try to stay silent and he knew it would eventually be over._

_It’ll be over._

_It will end._

_He’ll stop soon._

_Don’t cry out._

_It will end._

_Don’t cry._

_The words repeated over and over and over in his mind, in time with the lashes._

_And then, like always, it stopped.  Finally.  His whole back was on fire now.  His whole body felt like it was burning.  His throat ached from trying not to scream and cry._

_Uncle grabbed him by the hair and shoved him into his cupboard.  He landed on his back on the coarse fabric of the dirty little mattress, and_ slid _.  His back cried out in agony and he felt his teeth sink into his lip as he struggled to keep the cry from getting out.  Uncle would just hurt him more if he made noise._

_The cupboard door slammed shut, plunging him into darkness._

_Freak rolled onto his side and curled himself into a ball.  Tears slid from his eyes and he felt like a great hole had opened up in his chest.  It hurt so much, and not just his back.  He hurt inside.  He couldn’t understand why these things kept happening to him.  He didn’t know how to make Aunt and Uncle happy.  He always messed up.  He tried so hard, but he could never get it right._

_He never would._

_Because the Freak would always be a worthless burden._

_Tears continued to slide from his eyes until exhaustion finally overcame the pain._

Harry gasped and managed to steady himself on the back of a chair before his knees gave out.  Fuck, that had been a bad one.  They’d gotten better fairly soon after that.  The accidental magic had started happening less often.  And he learned to tolerate the punishments better.  He learned to not let them hurt him so much – well, emotionally, anyway.  Or maybe everything inside finally just got hard enough that he didn’t feel it anymore.

Again, he was appalled to find tears on his cheeks.  He scrubbed them away and looked up at the professor, too weary to feel embarrassed, or even defensive after what the man had just seen.  He had no doubt that he’d be hearing about this soon enough, probably in class in front of everyone.  He could almost hear it now, “What’s the matter, Potter?  Are you going to cry because I vanished your potion?  From a _Freak_ like you, we couldn’t expect any better, could we?”

“Get out, Potter,” Snape said, sounding as exhausted as Harry felt.

He couldn’t even find it in himself to glare, so he just turned and walked out.

* * *

Severus collapsed into the chair behind his desk and buried his face in his hands.  Sweet mother of Merlin, how could he have been so wrong about that boy?  How could Potter have gone through that?  He was Harry bloody Potter for Salazar’s sake!  Hadn’t Albus watched out for the boy _at all_?

And why the fuck was he now angry that the boy _hadn’t_ been a pampered prince? 

Gods, by those two memories…  If they were _any_ indication of the boy’s childhood in general…  Potter’s childhood had been worse than Severus’ own.  At least he’d had his mother.  She’d _tried_ to protect him, and she’d often succeeded.  Potter hadn’t had anyone.  He’d seen very clearly in that second memory that Petunia and that swine of a boy had done nothing to protect Harry.  They hadn’t even seemed like they’d _wanted_ to try to help.  Indeed, they’d both looked like they thought he _deserved_ it.  A little boy, not more than four, had received at least thirty lashes with a leather belt for…

Severus stomach turned.  For _accidental magic_.

He sighed heavily and found a bottle of Firewhisky in his desk.  He tugged out the cork and took a long pull.  He really couldn’t decide if he hated Albus more for what had happened to the boy or for forcing Severus to give these accursed lessons that had made him aware of what had happened. 

Fuck.  Ignorance really had been bliss.

He had no idea what he was going to do now.  Well, he was going to have a few more drinks and then go scream at Albus, yes, but after that…  He didn’t know if he could even look at the boy after this, much less continue to teach him, in the classroom or out of it.  He felt like such an utter fool for the way he’d treated the boy these last five years.  Not that he thought it would have surprised the boy.  Potter was clearly very accustomed to being treated like scum and viciously slandered.  No wonder the boy hated him.  Severus had been doing a remarkable impression of Potter’s disgusting muggle uncle.

And he just felt dirty to have made that comparison – to know that it was shamefully accurate, even if he’d never physically harmed the boy.

Fuck.  If there was one emotion that Severus knew and hated above all others, it was remorse.  And he’d just acquired an entirely new depth of it.

He gulped more Firewhisky, then summoned up those two memories and placed them into a small bottle.  If he had to feel like shit about this, he was going to make damn sure that Albus was feeling it, too.  Imagining the headmaster’s face when he realized exactly what he’d done putting the boy with his relatives finally brought a small, bitter smirk to his lips.

* * *

**6 February 1996 - Tuesday**

**(Three Weeks Later)**

“My Lord,” Severus bowed deeply from his knees, his forehead nearly brushing the marble floor.  He’d been thinking about this for two straight weeks, but after two more Occlumency lessons, and a dozen more memories in the same vein as those first two, he felt confident that he was doing the right thing.

“Severus,” the Dark Lord murmured affectionately.  “Rise.”

Severus did as commanded, looking up into the brilliant red eyes of the man who was the closest thing he’d ever known to a father.  Though he would always love the man unequivocally, he couldn’t help but appreciate the Dark Lord’s return to a human appearance.  It had taken almost a whole year, but the potions he’d designed had finally done their job.  Lord Voldemort was as beautiful as he’d been born to be – his skin smooth and pale but healthy, his thick black hair hung in gentle waves to his shoulders, bound loosely back behind his neck.  He was slender, but healthy and strong.  The man even looked a bit younger than Severus though the Dark Lord was more than twice his age. 

Though he knew his Lord’s almost unimaginable well of magical power had done a large part of the work, Severus was incredibly proud that he’d been able to lend his assistance to the process through his potions.

Lord Voldemort stepped forward and gripped Severus’ shoulder in a firm, kind grip and led him from the throne room into his study.  “What is on your mind, dear one?” the Dark Lord inquired once they’d settled into arm chairs and taken up the tea delivered by an elf.

“It’s about Potter,” Severus said quietly.

The Dark Lord quirked one perfectly shaped black brow in question.

Severus took a bracing breath.  He knew that this was a sensitive subject.  He’d been such a fool.  When Lily had been threatened, Severus had dared to beg his Lord to spare her.  And his Lord had agreed.  When Lily had died…  Severus had felt betrayed by the only person he’d believed truly cared for him.  And he’d done the unthinkable.  He’d abandoned his Lord, despite knowing that the Dark Lord had told him he was immortal.  He’d not tried to find a way to bring him back.  Instead, he’d sworn to protect the boy most probably responsible for his Lord’s fall.

When Lord Voldemort had returned, Severus had not even considered lying.  Not even for an instant.  He’d thrown himself at his Lord’s feet, he’d told him everything, and he’d begged for death.  He’d hated himself so much that death would have been a relief.

But his Lord had not killed him.  No.  The man had spared him, which had been even worse.  The Cruciatus he’d suffered had not been nearly painful enough to make him feel worthy of redemption, but he’d gotten it anyway.  He’d been charged with spying on the old fool as penance, but he hated himself for being useless in dealing with the Potter brat despite being the only one close enough to have a good chance at killing the boy.  He’d even offered to kill him despite his vow, which would have killed Severus as well.

His Lord had refused that proposition.  He’d told Severus that he valued him too much to allow him to die in such a way.  He’d promised that Severus would not be involved in Potter’s death in any way, ensuring that his vow did not harm him.

Despite that, however, they never discussed Potter between them.  Not since that day.  Now, he’d brought it up, and he had to keep talking.  On some level, he hoped to be punished for it, though he’d not developed a masochistic streak like some of the Death Eaters.  He didn’t _enjoy_ the pain his Lord dealt him.  He just felt like he deserved it.  Like it might lessen his guilt a little.

“I know that you wouldn’t have come to me about the boy unless you felt it warranted, Severus,” Lord Voldemort said quietly when the silence had gone on too long.  “Speak your mind, dear one.”

Severus closed his eyes briefly, reveling in the affection in his Lord’s voice even now.  Even with this topic at hand.  “Albus has charged me with teaching the boy Occlumency, to protect his mind from you, my Lord.”

The Dark Lord’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.  “Is the boy capable of mastering the art?”  Nothing less than a master had any chance at repelling the Dark Lord successfully, after all.

Severus nodded, “His mind is incredibly strong, my Lord, as was evident by his ability to throw off the Imperius Curse last year.  But it is also very chaotic.  With proper dedication and tutelage, he could perhaps rival my own skill.”

Lord Voldemort seemed to consider that for a moment.  “Will your vow allow you to sabotage his training?”

Severus felt his eye twitch at the mention of his foolish vow, but he nodded slowly, “I will have to actually train him, but if I am harsh enough with him, I can likely avoid making any real progress.”  He cleared his throat quietly.  “That… is not my reason for coming tonight, however.”

The Dark Lord’s brow lifted inquiringly.

Severus took another bracing breath.  “In his mind, I discovered some… disturbing memories.  If it would please you, my Lord, I believe you may wish to view them.”

Lord Voldemort lifted one hand and a pensieve flew out of a cupboard against the far wall, landing on a table that materialized beneath it just in time.

Severus drew the memories out one by one and placed them into the pensieve.

“Join me, Severus,” the Dark Lord instructed.

They both entered the pensieve and watched the memories that Severus had organized chronologically to the best of his ability based on the boy’s apparent age.

Harry in his cupboard, waking up from a nightmare.

Harry’s hovering the plate and being beaten for it.

Harry burning breakfast, being hit with a hot frying pan, forced to recook the breakfast, and then beaten before he was thrown back into his cupboard.

Harry being dragged out of his cupboard, so delirious with hunger and thirst that he could barely walk straight, his body fouled with his own waste, being forced into a cold shower, then made to scrub out his filthy cupboard.  The boy was then made to make breakfast for his family and given only scraps for himself.

Harry being chased down the street by his cousin and a group of his cousin’s friends.  Being caught and beaten and kicked by the lot of them until he was vomiting blood.

Harry going home after the beating and being yelled at for getting blood on the floor, made to clean it up, and then whipped by his uncle for the single small hit he’d managed to get in on his cousin during the beating.  Finally, he was tossed back into his cupboard.

A teacher at Harry’s primary school noticed a bruise.  His terror was clear in his eyes, but the school counselor at last managed to get a tentative confession of its origin.  The Dursleys were brought in and somehow managed to talk their way out of it.  Then back at the house, Harry received such a beating he must have been nearly dead when he was tossed into his cupboard.

Then, when Harry was about eight, his uncle sodomizing him for what seemed the first time.  That one was cut short as Harry had actually forced him out relatively quickly.  He’d included at the end the shame and anger in the boy’s eyes when he’d looked at Severus afterward. 

There were several more memories along the same vein, all of which ended with Harry in his cupboard, rocking back and forth and referring to himself still as “Freak”.  He had to be ten or eleven in the last ones.

When they emerged from the pensieve, the air was thick with the Dark Lord’s absolutely livid magic.  His eyes glowed a brilliant crimson.  He was furious.

Severus instinctively dropped himself to the floor, bowing his head low.  He knew Lord Voldemort wasn’t angry with him, but he also knew that that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be punished.  When the Dark Lord was this angry, he didn’t always pay that much attention to who received his curses.

“So this is the old fool’s golden boy,” the Dark Lord said after a minute, his voice low, smooth, and incredibly dangerous.  “Oh, Albus, you truly do make your own enemies.”

The magic in the room began to settle down and Severus breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Rise, Severus,” he said after a moment.

Severus carefully unfolded himself and returned to his chair, looking up at his Lord cautiously.

Lord Voldemort seemed to have regained his temper without throwing a single curse, which was pleasantly surprising.  “In your opinion, Severus, do you think the boy may be turned?” he asked quietly.

“I believe it is possible, my Lord,” which was the reason he’d brought this to Lord Voldemort in the first place.  “To my knowledge, no one has ever asked the boy’s opinion, nor explained to him what the war is really about.  He’s been told since entering the wizarding world that you killed his parents and would stop at nothing to kill him.  I don’t believe he’s ever even considered that there may be a choice for him but to fight against you or die.

“The more… _radical_ views of some of the other Death Eaters’ children are likely the only exposure he has had to the beliefs and goals of your cause, my Lord.  He does not understand the war, and has fought only for his life and the lives of his friends.  I believe it would take some convincing, but I don’t think it would be impossible.”

Lord Voldemort nodded slowly, then focused on Severus again.  “Then your duty is to lay a foundation of the truth for him, Severus.  Show him that you and he are not so different.  Show him that what you have learned has caused you to reassess him.”  He hesitated slightly, then added, “Do not sabotage his training.  Be gentle with him.”

Which would slow the training down some, and also hopefully win some good will.  However, it _would_ quite likely result in the boy actually being on his way to mastering the art.  Evidently, it was a risk the Dark Lord was willing to take.

“With such a past, I do not know how he was not sorted into Slytherin,” he mused.  “See if you can discover that answer, Severus.  Help him to understand the truth of Albus.  And of me.”

“It will be as you wish, my Lord,” Severus said with quiet reverence.  His Lord had responded as he had hoped.  If Harry could be brought to their side, Severus would no longer be forced to divide his allegiance.  That, he wished for above all else.  He also genuinely wished to help the boy who had suffered a childhood even worse than his own.  It was not something he’d ever expected to feel for Potter’s son, but…  Well, he was beginning to understand now that there was very little of James Potter in the son.

He was not arrogant, he was defensive.  For anyone to have survived such a childhood without being broken, it spoke of incredible strength of mind and character.  And it did not surprise him in the least that the boy met confrontation with confrontation.  Being rebellious, at least in his own mind, was probably the only thing that had kept the boy from being completely crushed by those vile swine he had the misfortune to call relatives.

“He will not return to those muggles, Severus,” Lord Voldemort spoke again.  “I will not allow it.  It would be best if he could be swayed toward us before the term ends.”

“I will give it my full attention, my Lord.”

“I know that you will, dear one,” Lord Voldemort said affectionately, resting his hand gently on Severus’ shoulder for a moment before releasing him.  “Now return, before you are missed, my spy.”

Severus rose and bowed deeply before taking his leave.  When he apparated back to Hogwarts, his heart was lighter than it had been in sixteen years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter will be Harry's POV and Severus launches his plan to convert Harry.
> 
> FYI: Part 1 and 2 will be preslash with regard to the Snarry. The Snarry slash starts in Part 3, though I'm undecided as to whether there will be any brief, minor pairings of Harry/Other during Part 2.


	2. Survivor

* * *

* * *

**12 February 1996 - Monday**

“Have a seat, Harry,” Snape said neutrally when Harry entered his office for their fourth Occlumency lesson.

For a moment, Harry stood frozen, unable to reconcile the fact that Snape had just called him “Harry” or that he was being less than a total prick.  Then he realized that nothing good would come of any seeming defiance and he hurried to the chair in front of Snape’s desk.

To his further shock, Snape moved around his desk and took the chair next to Harry, turning it to face him.

Okay, something really weird was going on.  A spike of panic shot through him as he wondered if Snape was going to try to get him to talk about the memories.

One of Snape’s eyebrows rose as Harry shifted uneasily, but the expected scathing comment did not come.  After a moment, the professor spoke again, his voice still alarmingly… neutral.  “After our previous sessions, I’ve decided that I’ve not taken the correct tactic in teaching the delicate mind arts.”

That sounded oddly close to an apology – or at least that the potions professor was admitting to being… wrong.  Who’d have thought that was possible?

Snape leaned back with a quiet sigh, “I know that you don’t trust me, Harry, and I don’t blame you for that.  I’ve given you no reason to trust me.  I…” he hesitated, then forged ahead, “I made assumptions about you that I realize now were both erroneous and an insult to my own intelligence.”

Surely Snape had been hexed with a confundus charm, or something.

“I chose the wrong approach to training you because I didn’t understand you.  I think I do better now.”

Harry’s lips thinned and he felt his eye twitch slightly as he thought about exactly what Snape had seen to make him think he now knew Harry so well.  He bit down on the urge to scream at the man, since he was actually being halfway decent for once and Harry really wasn’t eager to return to their usual exchanges.  “Okay,” was all he managed to say.

Snape’s lips twitched as though he was fighting the urge to smile.  …but surely that couldn’t be right.  Harry was most likely hallucinating.  That might explain this whole thing.  Someone must have poisoned him at dinner.

“When I tell you to clear your mind, what do you imagine that means?” Snape asked reasonably.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, certain that he was about to say something unforgivably stupid and get yelled at.  “Um,” he cleared his throat and tried again.  “I guess it means that I’m not supposed to think about anything?”

Snape stared at him a moment, then nodded to himself.  “This is not incorrect,” Snape said after a moment, still almost pleasant.  “It is a gross oversimplification, however.  Again, the fault is mine.  I assumed you would understand, and clearly you do not.

“First, I need you to think of a place where you feel safe.  Do that now.”

Harry frowned incredulously.  Where he felt _safe_?  When in his life had he ever been safe?  Still, he really wanted to avoid angering the potions master when he was evidently willing to actually try to teach him something for a change.  Well, for the first time since he’d met the man, actually.

So he closed his eyes and did his best to try to think of some time when he’d felt safe.  Hogwarts had felt safe in the beginning, but he’d been nearly killed too many times in and around the castle to feel that way anymore.  The Dursleys’ had never felt safe.  Even when he was shut alone in his cupboard, he’d feared every time anyone moved passed it that the door would fly open and they would come for him.  Not to mention how many times he’d feared he would die of thirst or hunger in that cupboard before they remembered he was in there.

That left the Burrow and Grimmauld Place.  Both had the same drawback.  Too many people.  He’d almost never been let alone for any length of time.  Even when he was just among his friends, he couldn’t feel _safe_.  He loved them, but…  But part of him still cringed from their touches.  Part of him still shrunk away from their kind words.  He knew he wasn’t worthy.  He didn’t believe that he was as worthless as the Dursleys would like him to believe, but that was still a long way from being… normal.  Ron and Hermione would eventually figure that out, and then they’d hurt him too, even if it was just with their words.

There was the headmaster’s office, but he’d never felt comfortable around Dumbledore either.  The man seemed to know too much sometimes, and nothing other times, and it left Harry feeling completely wrong-footed most of the time.  He always wondered how much he knew about what happened at the Dursleys.  Had he left him there and forgotten about him for ten years, or had he known exactly what happened, and done nothing to stop it?

And which would be worse?

And Snape was still waiting expectantly.  Finally, he shook his head, slowly.  Reluctantly.  “I can’t think of anything, sir,” he said quietly, hating how vulnerable he sounded.

Snape’s lips pulled down in a frown, but he nodded.  “That makes this a bit more difficult, but not impossible.  I would like for you to try to imagine a place where you could feel safe.  It can be large or small.  It can be completely imaginary or based on somewhere you’ve actually been.  Try to think of a place that would make you feel safe, and build it in your mind in as much detail as possible.”

Harry sighed, relieved and bewildered that Snape was _still_ being nice, but again tried to do as he was told.  Where the hell would he feel safe?

After a good twenty minutes of considering and discarding ideas, he finally sighed and focused on Snape again.

Surprisingly, Snape just nodded.  “It will take a little time.  You should start by making a list, either in your mind or on parchment.  List the things that make you feel safe against the things that make you feel uncomfortable, and then use that list to figure out what your safe place should be.”

He eyed Harry critically for a moment.  “I honestly want to help you learn this, Harry, but you must do most of the work.  I can only lead you, not do it for you.  I want to meet with you twice a week from now on.  Friday evenings as well as Mondays.  In addition, I need you to spend an hour every night working on whatever task I set you.  If you can’t do that, then we’re just wasting both of our time.”

Harry watched the man warily for a long moment.  The only thing he could think was that Snape had _finally_ figured out that Harry wasn’t his father.  He still wouldn’t have expected a turnaround like this unless the man pitied him or something disturbing like that.  Part of him wanted to rebel at that thought and push the man as far away as humanly possible.

But.

If Snape really could teach him this…  It _would_ be nice to know that his mind was protected – that no one else would ever see those memories without his permission.  “Do you…” he swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible.  “Do you really think I can learn this, professor?” he asked, managing to meet those black eyes for a brief moment.

“Yes,” Snape said quietly.  “In fact, I am certain that you can.  _If_ you are willing to put the effort into it.  You were able to throw off the Dark Lord’s Imperius Curse at fourteen, Harry.  By all rights, that should have been impossible.”

Harry blinked at him in surprise.  He’d expected something like, “I doubt it, but Dumbledore thinks you can for some reason, so we’re going to try.”  He definitely hadn’t expected such… compliments.  He checked the urge to thank the man, since he guessed Snape meant it more as a fact than a compliment.  He just nodded, “Okay, then.  I’ll…  I’ll do my best to not waste your time, sir.”

Snape stared at him for a moment longer, then gave a brisk nod and got up to return to the chair behind his desk.  “Until Friday, I need you to focus on creating a safe place in your mind.  I expect to see progress.”

Harry nodded as well and got up.

“Dismissed,” Snape nodded.

Harry fled the room, his mind reeling from the fact that the man had not yelled, scowled, or sneered even once in… he checked his watch… over an hour being alone in the same room as him.  He hadn’t once called him “Potter” either.  Quite possibly there was some correlation there.

Harry didn’t like to think that the man pitied him, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from learning everything Snape would teach him.  He was going to learn, and he was going to prove that he didn’t need anyone’s pity, damn it.

* * *

As soon as the door was closed, Severus leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily.  That hadn’t been half as hard as he’d expected it to be.  Actually, it hadn’t been even a fraction as difficult as he’d expected.

Who’d have thought Potter could last… he glanced at the clock against the wall… over an hour without being an arrogant, rebellious little twit.

Severus frowned irritably at the empty room, well aware that he wasn’t giving the boy enough credit.  Much as he hated to admit it – and _Merlin_ did he hate to admit it – his perceptions of the boy had never been anything close to correct.  Harry wasn’t rebellious and thick-headed because he thought he deserved more than he did – because he was spoiled.  No, the brat was rebellious and thick-headed because it was the way he’d learned to survive an impossible childhood. 

Worked as a slave, subjected to constant verbal abuse, brutally beaten, neglected, starved… raped.  It was a miracle the boy had survived at all.  It was remarkable that he hadn’t chosen to end his _own_ life, being so constantly reminded that he was worthless, a burden, a freak…  It would have taken an outstanding constitution to become anything other than a gibbering lunatic or a raving psychopath.  _How_ that boy managed to even _act_ like a marginally well-adjusted adolescent was truly beyond Severus.

The Dark Lord was absolutely correct.  That boy _should_ have been in Slytherin.  Abused children just didn’t grow up into Gryffindors.  They didn’t.  If the abuse was relatively mild, they may well become Hufflepuffs, seeking and clinging to others, more than willing to work hard and prove that they deserved what they had.  Or they became Ravenclaws, content to lose themselves in books and knowledge and pretend all the bad things in their world didn’t exist.

But in more serious cases, the children learned to protect themselves, usually through cunning, deceit, manipulation, general reclusiveness, or antipathy.  They were highly ambitious, because nothing less would have allowed them to survive their difficult situation.  Often, that ambition was to become powerful enough to carry out revenge, or at least to ensure that anyone who tried to harm them again would regret it – permanently.  Sometimes, in cases such as the Dark Lord, if those children were intelligent enough and powerful enough, that ambition knew no bounds.

Lord Voldemort had confided his own childhood to Severus.  At first, it was vague mentions.  It was, in fact, what had inspired him to take the Mark.  Later, as he proved himself increasingly accomplished and indispensable with his skills, the Dark Lord had confided more.  Severus was, to the best of his knowledge, the Dark Lord’s closest confidant.  There were others he favored as well, but Severus was virtually certain Lord Voldemort had never mentioned his abused childhood to the haughty and pampered Lucius or the simpering, pandering Bellatrix.

Severus shook those thoughts, focusing again on Harry.  He knew that he’d misjudged the boy.  Harry was not at all who he’d thought.  The question now was…  Who exactly _was_ Harry Potter?  Why was he not a Slytherin?  What motivations did he live by?

The Dark Lord had charged Severus with getting the boy ready to be recruited by this summer.  In order to do that, Severus was going to need to understand the way Harry thought.  How much of the Harry Potter everyone thought they knew was real, and how much was a mask the boy wore?

It couldn’t be real – this perfect Gryffindor Golden Boy façade that the whole world ascribed to.  It simply wasn’t possible that Harry could grow up as he did and become… _that_.

Severus leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, beginning to sift through his memories of the boy, searching for anything telling, any inconsistencies.  Things he had willfully misinterpreted before he saw that tiny boy weeping in a dark cupboard.  For a truly skilled occlumens, there were benefits to using a pensieve, but it certainly wasn’t necessary to properly review one’s own memories.

He was mildly surprised and enormously disgusted with himself when he picked up his first hint on his memory of Harry’s Sorting – the first time he’d ever lain eyes on the brat.  When it had happened, all he had seen was James Potter’s messy hair and a hall full of doting admirers.  Now, he saw a very strong little boy impressively concealing his utter terror.

It was terror that Severus recognized well, for he’d felt exactly the same at his own Sorting.  _Was_ he really a wizard?  Would the Hat laugh and send him home?  He’d wanted so badly to get into _any_ house…  Anything to avoid going home.  That was what he saw in Harry.

Except…  He also saw the furtive glance toward the Slytherin table.  Frowning, Severus replayed that in his mind several times over.  Then he backed up and watched the boy’s reactions to the Sortings before his own.  There was little reaction to most of them.  A slight acknowledgement of Granger.  Mostly it was fear and longing.  Fear that he wouldn’t belong and longing that he’d be Sorted successfully as well.  Longing for his turn to be over…

But… _there_!  Draco.  Distrust.  Distaste.  Anger.  The hint of a sneer.

Severus opened his eyes and cursed quietly.  Of course, Draco would have found a way to prejudice the Boy-Who-Lived against Slytherin before the ruddy Sorting…

Severus had no idea how he’d have reacted had Harry been Sorted into Slytherin, but he was certain it would have been an improvement over seeing the boy seemingly following his father’s footsteps into Gryffindor.  He’d have watched more objectively to figure out _why_ the boy was in his house.

He shook that off and went back to watching.  It was a good thing his hatred of the boy had always been so intense that he’d practically stalked the brat.  He had a great many very detailed memories of the boy over the years.  He’d rarely been in the same room as Harry and not been watching him intently.  Of course, he’d misinterpreted everything in his unconscious but willful delusions.

Still, he now had the proper insight and motivation to reassess them, at least.

There was Harry’s first potions class.  What he’d assumed at the time to be arrogance and mischievousness now rather looked like excitement, and even a touch of awe.  Merlin’s saggy balls, had Potter really been _excited_ about his class before he’d humiliated and debased the boy and generally done a great impression of the boy’s uncle?

Fuck.

Hindsight was a truly distasteful experience.

Several hours later, Severus opened his eyes and poured himself a glass of Firewhisky.  He was going to get Crucio’d.  And he was going to deserve it.

Damn it, he was a fool.  If he’d noticed sooner…  He could have taken the boy under his wing from the beginning.  He’d have been _ripe_ for recruitment by the time the Dark Lord returned. 

Severus honestly did not think there was a single adult in Potter’s acquaintance that he’d trusted in his first two years at Hogwarts.  He’d tried to trust Minerva, and she’d disappointed him.  Albus had still been keeping his distance.  Severus could have been that adult.

Now…

Severus tilted his head thoughtfully and swirled the liquor in his glass.

Now, Albus was ignoring and ostracizing the boy.  Minerva had missed her chance.  Hagrid wasn’t an adult – probably why the boy got along with him so well.  He only saw Poppy when he was hurting, and he doubted any abused child would ever trust a medical professional considering the generally ingrained habit to fear being caught and thusly punished.  The wolf and the mutt…  Well, the mutt was pretty far from an adult as well, and he was pretty sure he still saw Harry as James.  The wolf had made himself a decently respectable figure by teaching the boy the Patronus Charm in his third year, but Harry hadn’t seen much of him since he’d left the DADA post.

Perhaps the situation wasn’t beyond salvation, but was the boy too old to need or _want_ an authority figure he could turn to now?  It was quite likely.  That was probably why he clung with such determination to the mutt.  He was more of an older brother than a parental figure.  He _definitely_ was no sort of authority figure.

What did Harry need now…?

Severus took the memories he’d found in the boy’s mind, overlaid them with his observations of the boy over the last four and a half years, then factored in Severus’ own memories of his childhood and teenage years to help him find Harry’s likely mindset.  Not that Severus and Harry had handled their troubles in at all the same way, but it was a start.

The boy clung to his friends like a paranoid Hufflepuff, but he somehow always remained slightly apart from them.  They didn’t understand him.  They couldn’t.  Weasley had a dozen immediate family members, and Granger had far too much faith in adults.  They both had loving homes.  So Harry _wanted_ friends.  He probably went out of his way to make himself the kind of person they wanted to be friends with, actually.

But no one truly understood the boy.  None of his precious friends had the slightest inkling of what his life had been like.  That was obvious, as he was sure Granger would have gone running to Albus and/or Minerva in a righteous fit at the thought of him going back if she’d had the first clue how bad it was there.  And Weasley probably would have gone to his parents and/or elder brothers.

They didn’t have the first clue who Harry really was, because they’d never be able to relate to the cold, desperate survivor that dwelt at the core of the boy’s personality – the child who was told from his first memories that he was a worthless freak, yet somehow found the will to _try_ to prove that wrong.  The Slytherin who’d all but turned himself into a Gryffindor in order to fit in among his chosen “friends”.

Harry needed a mentor carefully disguised as a friend.

Great.

Now how in Salazar’s name could Severus Snape go from being the boy’s most hated professor to anything like a friend?

Clearly, Severus was going to need to put every scrap of his self-discipline and ingenuity to use to pull this off.  And in four months.


	3. In the Dark

* * *

* * *

 

**16 February 1996 - Friday**

Harry was nervous as he made his way down to the dungeons.  His first lesson with Snape, the man had started out vengeful and brutal, as he’d expected.  After seeing those first two memories, he’d seemed simply exhausted and maybe a little off-balance.  Probably a side-effect of seeing all his preconceived notions of the “pampered prince Potter” go up in smoke.

On the second and third meetings, Snape had been irritable and abrupt, but not cruel.  Then, last time…  Harry still thought he may have hallucinated the entire thing, because Snape had been very nearly _nice_.  Harry had no idea what to expect this time.  Would Snape be over whatever was going on with him?  Or would the trend continue and he’d tip the scale into full-blown kindness?

He snorted quietly at that thought.  He was pretty sure Snape didn’t even know _how_ to be “kind”.

Well, if he was being honest with himself, he’d spent a good bit of time observing and mimicking Ron and Hermione and Neville before he’d fully picked it up.  He still wasn’t sure sometimes if he really had learned to be kind or if he’d just gotten really good at going through the motions.

What was Snape’s excuse for being such a bastard?  Surely, at his age, it couldn’t have been that he had a shitty childhood.  It had always seemed to Harry that he was just a bastard – as some people just seemed to be.  But what if there was a reason for it?

Well, the man was a Death Eater.  Spy or not, that couldn’t be fun, bowing to Voldie and all that.

The fact that Harry hadn’t heard a single word, disparaging or otherwise, in regard to the memories Snape had seen was rather suspicious as well.  Was he just saving it up for the moment that it could do the most damage?  Possible.  But it didn’t explain his sudden fit of decency with regard to Harry when they were in private.

Unless he was trying to gain his trust to set him up for a bigger fall?

Probable.

…but was Snape really _that_ good?  Could he actually still hate Harry with a blazing fury and _completely_ keep the sentiment out of his eyes when he sat less than a meter away from him and spoke to him with patience and… understanding?

Understanding.

That was the key that Harry had been overlooking.

_That_ was the difference that Harry had been seeing since that first day.  Not pity so much as empathy.

Fucking bollocks.  Snape _had_ gone through something at least vaguely similar.

His revelation was cut short when he arrived at the door to Snape’s office.  He’d been walking rather slowly while he worked through that in his mind, but a glance at his watch showed that he was still a few minutes early.  He’d been unable to listen any longer to Ron and Hermione’s commiserations about the lessons with Snape being increased to twice a week, and had ended up leaving the common room almost ten minutes earlier than he otherwise would have.

He liked those two, but sometimes their naivety was truly epic.  Snape was – well, _had_ been – bloody annoying, but it wasn’t _that_ bad.  Ron hated him with a blazing fury.  Hermione seemed more righteously disappointed that a teacher could act like he did.  Harry just couldn’t think of Snape as more than an annoyance when he had competition such as the crazy Dark Lord who wanted Harry dead and…  Well, the Dursleys.  Honestly, the Dursleys were worse.  At least Voldemort only tried to kill him, not suck the life out of him through pain, humiliation, and despair.

Harry sighed.  He knew he was stalling now.  Gritting his teeth and hoping for tolerable-Snape, he raised his hand and knocked firmly twice.

“Enter.”

Well, that sounded suitably neutral.

Upon entering, he found the man seated behind his desk with his head bent over a stack of parchments – essays by the way he was covering them in red ink.

Snape lifted one hand and pointed toward the chair in front of his desk without speaking.

Harry closed the door behind him and took the seat, waiting patiently for the man to finish, trying not to feel nervous.  He’d kept his word and done the work Snape had assigned on Monday, but he had no idea if Snape would be satisfied with it or if he’d accuse him of being a lazy idiot and go back to being a bastard.

* * *

It was a considerable effort to pay attention to what he was doing now that Harry was in the room, but he hated to stop in the middle of an essay.  He’d end up rereading the whole thing later to familiarize himself with exactly why it was so disappointing, and he did _not_ need to read these bloody things more than once.

While he was finishing it, he kept track of Harry with his ears and subtle, occasional glances up through his lashes.  He probably shouldn’t have been surprised that Harry was yet again surprising him.  Harry looked slightly nervous, but he was mostly sitting still and waiting patiently.  It was rather astonishing how much Harry seemed to change in response to Severus’ treatment.  He may have expected that to some degree, but certainly not this quickly.  It was becoming blazingly apparent that the nature of his relationship with the boy had always been in his hands.  He’d been driving the animosity between them all this time.  Harry actually seemed to have very little inherent antipathy toward him.  He hadn’t expected that.

He was almost insulted when he realized how low on Harry’s list of villains he must have been all this time, but it did make sense.  What was an annoying, irascible potions master compared to Vernon Dursley?

He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

He finished up with the essay quickly, probably being far less scathing than the essay really warranted just because he was so distracted.  Oh well.  He cleaned the nib of his quill and set it aside before moving around the desk to sit next to the boy again.  It removed the authoritative position brought on by the separation of his imposing desk and gave their encounter a considerably more casual atmosphere.  Which was the point.  Though Severus had initially expected more resistance from Harry in dropping their long-standing animosity, he wasn’t going to complain.

“Have you had any luck in creating your safe place?” he chose to begin.

Harry was watching him with eyes far more shrewd than Severus would have thought possible a month ago.  The way he was evaluating Severus was decidedly _not_ Gryffindor in nature.

“Some,” Harry replied guardedly.  The boy’s trust in the new tenor of their relationship was clearly quite limited, but at least some semblance of it existed.

Severus just nodded.  “Very well.  Close your eyes.”

Harry’s jaw tensed and Severus withheld the urge to sigh.  Clearly their trust yet had a _long_ way to go.

“I’m going to verbally guide you through the process of making your safe place into a stable location within your mind.  You need to close your eyes in order to visualize it properly,” he said as patiently as possible.

The boy looked slightly embarrassed by his suspicion, but he hesitated only a moment more before letting his eyes slip closed.  His shoulders remained very tense and Severus fought the urge to sigh.  This was going to be a long night.

“Focus on your safe place, Harry,” Severus began, lowering his voice into a gentle monotone.  “Without moving your body, I want you to send your mind into your refuge.  Slow your breathing.  In…  Out…  In… Out…  Find your safe place, Harry.  Nothing can harm you there.  You’re safe.  Breathe in…  Breathe out…”

It took almost an hour to get Harry calm enough to make any progress.  It would have been much easier had there already existed a degree of trust between them.  Getting Harry to fully relax around him was a task in itself.  Achieving that while putting him into such an inherently vulnerable state with his eyes closed and his focus outside his physical surrounds…  Well, there was a reason that few people bothered to try to instruct the delicate mind arts without trust between master and apprentice.  This situation was far from ideal, but Severus and Harry were both stubborn and capable individuals.  So long as Harry wanted to learn and Severus to teach, they would get there.

“I’m there,” Harry finally whispered and Severus watched with interest as a small smile curled across the boy’s lips.

“Very good,” Severus said, keeping his voice calm and even.  “I’m going to enter your mind to observe what you’ve created…”

And Harry’s shoulders instantly returned to full tension as his eyes snapped open.  “You’re what?” he asked suspiciously.

Severus lifted an eyebrow and Harry frowned as he added, “Sir.”

Severus sighed lightly and turned his lips into a small but relatively genuine smile, “For the purpose of these lessons, Harry, you may call me Severus.”

The boy’s eyes widened dramatically at the small offer and he swallowed before giving a tiny nod.  “Okay…  So, um…  You said that you were going to go into my mind, si… ah, Severus?” he had to put visible effort into saying Severus’ given name, but it was a start.  Removing the formality between them was going to be vital to breaking down the barriers enough to approach anything like a “friendship”.

Stifling an amused smirk at the boy’s difficulty, Severus nodded openly.  “That’s correct.  In order to properly train you to organize and guard your mind, I need to view your safe place.  I’ll help you to modify it as necessary and work with your mind from that position.  At this time, I will not be viewing any of your memories.  In fact, I will endeavor to avoid them.  I merely wish to access your mental refuge.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he seemed to consider that, and after a moment, he gave a reluctant nod.

“Very well.  Close your eyes and I will help you to return to your safe place.  This time, remain there.  I will warn you before I enter, and I will do so gently.”

It took less than ten minutes for Harry to announce his success this time, which was mildly impressive at this point, but no more than Severus had expected. 

The lack of eye contact made the Legilimens spell more difficult, but certainly not impossible given Severus’ expertise.  Considering that Harry had no defenses at present, nor was he actively trying to resist, Severus had no difficulty sliding into the boy’s mind.

He moved immediately to search him out.  He had very little interest in seeing any more of the boy’s memories even discounting the promise that he had made and was bound to uphold by both his honor and his every hope of earning Harry’s trust.  Though he evaded the memories, the general feelings were not avoidable in a mind still so poorly organized.  Harry’s mind felt considerably sharper than he’d expected, now that he was traversing it without the sole goal of locating and exploring individual memories.  It felt of pain, suspicion, anger, fear, and quite strongly of determination.  These feelings waxed and waned as he moved through the formless void that was Harry’s mind.  It was a mess – that much was very obvious.  It made Severus wonder if his own mind had ever been this bad before Lord Voldemort had helped him to organize it properly.

Finding the boy was much harder than he’d expected, but he did finally sense the presence of his consciousness.  Upon entering, it took Severus a moment to realize that the area he was in felt properly formed, yet it was completely pitch black.

“Harry?” he said cautiously.

For a moment, there was nothing, and then, “What?”

The whisper seemed to come from directly behind Severus and he flinched in spite of himself.  When he tried to focus on the source of the voice, it was already gone. 

“I’m impressed, Harry,” he admitted cautiously, and he absolutely _was_ impressed.  He’d expected to find himself in some kind of room.  Perhaps a fortress given Harry’s insecurities, or maybe a hidden forest glen.  He had _not_ expected complete darkness.  Who the hell felt safe surrounded by utter darkness?

He heard a quiet, almost malicious sort of chuckle that seemed to come from everywhere at once. 

“I had hoped to _see_ your safe place,” he admitted.

“Most people are afraid of the dark,” Harry said quietly, his voice seeming to come from Severus’ right side one moment, then his left, then behind him, then everywhere at once.  Clearly, putting his mind into his safe place had increased the boy’s confidence.

Damn, he’d been right about the strength of Harry’s mind.  This was a _first_ attempt.

“I’m not afraid.  That makes me safe,” Harry continued, his voice implacable.

Severus nodded, though obviously it couldn’t be seen.  “It is rather effective,” he had to agree.  He couldn’t stop his thoughts from going to that dark cupboard.  There was no question of how the boy had become more comfortable in the dark than the light.  He reached his hands out to feel around for walls or ceiling, but could find none.  “However, it may be more effective for training purposes if you could… shed a little light on the situation.”

Harry chuckled again.  It was a dark sound that reminded Severus strangely of Lord Voldemort.  It was a thought that both chilled and excited him.  And it suggested rather a lot about who Harry really was beneath his masks – masks that appeared to be largely absent now.  Severus suspected that this situation was unusual enough for the boy that he’d not yet even realized his lapse.

An instant later, there was a faint light, like a Lumos, floating about a meter in front of Severus.  He could see the boy sitting on the other side of the light, his legs folded comfortably in front of him on the floor.  For a moment, Severus couldn’t take his eyes from the brilliant green eyes that glinted eerily in the faint light.  Despite the color, those eyes were nothing like Lily’s now.  Her eyes had never been so old or so jaded.

He finally tore his gaze away from Harry to examine his surroundings.  There were no walls or ceiling within the range of the weak light, but it made him think of a cave or cavern with the damp stone scent and the slightly uneven floor.  Yes, Harry had even added the scent to his mental “room”.  That was something most beginning occlumens ignored.  Of course, it wasn’t _necessary_ per se, but it did have a large impact on how real a place felt.

Severus hesitated just a moment before folding himself onto the cold, rocky floor in front of the boy, his face a little clearer now that the light was above both of them.

Harry was watching him intently again, and Severus had the sense that he was being evaluated down to the smallest detail.

Merlin, the boy was good to have so thoroughly fooled everyone.  He was so very much _not_ a Gryffindor.

“What do we do now?” Harry finally asked.

“Now, we come to the… wearying task of organizing your mind, Harry.  I am very impressed by this room, particularly if it is generally completely black.  Trapping and disorienting Legilimens in your mind will be almost simple with a room like this at the heart of your mind.  Of course, that can’t be utilized until you’ve organized your memories and stored them safely away.  It must then become automatic for anyone entering your mind to be shunted directly into this room.  Most of the time, you will not allow anyone in at all, if that is possible, but if anyone does come in, they should come directly here.”

“How do I organize my mind?” Harry wondered.

“You begin by finding a place to store your memories.  Some people choose to hide them in books in a large mental library.  The shelves can then be organized to conceal those most precious and warded to stave off inspection.  Others hide them within photographs, or pebbles…  It depends on you.  This is _your_ mind, after all.”

“How do you hide yours?” the boy inquired.

“Mine are hidden in a potions storeroom,” Severus smirked and was mildly surprised to receive one in return – even if it was guarded.  “Of course, touching the wrong thing can have decidedly dangerous consequences.”

Harry nodded, seemingly pleased by that idea.

“Considering the state of your room, I would suggest perhaps concealing your memories in cracks in the walls… assuming this place _has_ walls.  Having them hidden within the darkness of this place will be a good start, but many of your memories are laced with emotions – strong emotions.  To conceal the memories, you must conceal the corresponding emotions or one does not need the sense of sight to locate certain types of memories.”

The boy nodded, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Severus was pleasantly surprised to find that Harry’s rather lackluster intellect seemed to be a part of his mask, for he saw keen intelligence and easy understanding in those brilliant green eyes now.  He nearly mentioned it, but was wary of putting the boy on the defensive.  He was increasingly convinced that Harry didn’t even realize how his masks had fallen away at the moment.

“Now, I’m going to show you how to begin organizing your memories.  I have little doubt you’ll pick it up quickly.  You can then spend the weekend getting started on that, and we’ll see how you’ve done on Monday.”

Harry nodded determinedly, and continued to drink in every word Severus spoke.

As he taught the boy, he couldn’t help but think that Lord Voldemort would approve of the child.


	4. Red and Green

* * *

* * *

**1 April 1996 - Monday**

**(Six Weeks Later)**

“Drink this,” Severus – as Harry was slowly beginning to think of the man – passed him a potion.

“What is it?” Harry asked as neutrally as possible.  The success of their occlumency lessons depended heavily upon the degree of trust between them, and Harry did trust the man now… about as much as he trusted anyone anyway.  That didn’t mean that he was going to swallow down a potion he didn’t recognize without asking any questions.

Severus seemed to take the question as it was intended – which was another thing they were getting much better at.  “It is a variation of a pepper up potion,” Severus supplied.  “It will help to rejuvenate your magic and your mind.”

Harry nodded and hesitated only a moment before quaffing it.  The effect was almost instantaneous.  His exhausted mind cleared and the lethargy induced by his flagging magic lifted at a slow but steady rate.  “Thank you,” he said sincerely as he set the bottle down on the desk.

Severus nodded his acknowledgement and leaned back in his chair, studying Harry.

The boy returned the scrutiny.  Severus wanted to talk to him about something important.  Harry had recognized that several weeks ago, but the man had yet to broach the topic.  Harry suspected that the hesitance was inspired by the fact that the topic was not directly related to their lessons, but something of a more personal nature.

“We have about an hour left,” Severus said finally.  “You’ve made progress with organizing your mind.”

Harry withheld a snort.  They’d been at this for six weeks, four to six hours a week – not including the “homework” – and Harry knew he was less than halfway to achieving any acceptable state of mental organization.  Severus had been – shockingly – positive about the progress, but Harry knew that his head was still a mess.

Severus ignored Harry’s mild reaction.  “I would like to see if we can’t recover some memories that you’ve lost to your unconscious mind.”

Harry frowned hesitantly just a moment before venturing, “You mean like memories of when I was a baby?”

Severus lifted an eyebrow in evident surprise, then gave a small nod.

Harry frowned pensively for a moment.  Memories that far back would include his parents.  What would it be like to remember them?  He wasn’t entirely certain that he actually _wanted_ those memories.  After all, you couldn’t miss what you’d never known.  How would it feel to experience even a single memory of having a real family?  He was pretty sure it wouldn’t be pleasant in the long run.  “Do I have to?” he finally asked, displeased that his voice came out so small.

Severus studied him curiously, “Do you have a specific objection?”

Harry grimaced.  He didn’t like how vulnerable it would make him feel to admit this, but he knew that he needed to own up or Severus would not be pleased to forego it.  He took a deep breath and admitted, “I’ve never really mourned my parents.”

Severus looked faintly surprised, so he continued.

“I never _knew_ them.  What was I supposed to mourn, an idea?  I…  At this point, I’d really be happier to never know what I missed out on.”

Severus nodded his understanding – and he even looked like he agreed.  “How about after that then?”  He blinked then, as though something had just occurred to him.  “Have you…” he hesitated briefly before going on.  “Have you ever wondered why you were placed with the Dursleys?”

Harry eyed him suspiciously, wondering at that hesitation.  He seriously doubted that Severus was the sort to worry overmuch about bruising Harry’s delicate feelings.  Then again, they’d pretty much avoided mention of all things “Dursley” since that first lesson.  That could explain it.  “You don’t know?” Harry wondered.  Somehow, he’d thought Dumbledore might have told him.

Severus shook his head.  He hesitated again, then quietly admitted, “I left for several months after the Dark Lord’s fall.  When I returned, I studiously avoided any mention of you, though you weren’t discussed often.”

Harry nodded slowly, working to read between the lines.  Severus vanished for several months immediately following Voldemort’s fall.  Celebrating his freedom or mourning his lord’s passing?  Or hiding out until the round-up-all-the-Death-Eater’s hype had passed, he judiciously added. 

He forced his mind away from that for the moment to focus on their conversation.  “So, you think I might have a memory lost in my head somewhere of Dumbledore discussing my placement?”

Severus nodded, “It is very possible.  He’d hardly have felt the need to guard his words in the presence of a child so young.”

Harry couldn’t help but smirk a little at the notion of eavesdropping on a fourteen-year-old conversation.  And he liked the idea of maybe learning a little more about Dumbledore’s real feelings toward him.  He didn’t understand nearly enough about Dumbledore.  Though the man had never given Harry a tangible reason to distrust him, it was really hard to avoid. 

Everyone wanted something.  Ron wanted to be the friend of someone famous – which wasn’t terrible.  Hermione just wanted a real friend, as she’d probably never had one before either – which was actually kind of nice.  Ginny wanted to date him – which was just never going to happen.  Neville just wanted to feel special and included – which was okay.  Luna just wanted to be around people who were nice to her – which was sad, but acceptable.  Most of the DA just wanted to pass their exams and maybe be able to say they were taught by the “Great Harry Potter” which was controllable. 

Severus… was still murky.  Maybe he wanted to assuage his guilt for being such a prick for so long after he discovered how stupid he’d been in his assumptions about Harry.  He was definitely following Dumbledore’s orders, but that first lesson had made it pretty clear that he didn’t feel compelled by that to make the experience pleasant.  Maybe he’d just seen the revelation of Harry’s past as a connection between them that made Harry tolerable.  Maybe he’d come to the conclusion that Harry might be powerful enough or intelligent enough to be worth not having him as an enemy.  There were a lot of possibilities, but Harry could work with that.

Dumbledore was an enigma so far.  He clearly seemed to believe Harry was somehow important to the war he was personally waging against Voldemort, but Harry had no idea in what capacity he imagined Harry would help.  If it was just about Harry being powerful – which was debatable in itself – Harry would have expected to be receiving some kind of training.

Dumbledore was _far_ too nice for Harry to accept without suspicion.  Learning something about his reasons for putting Harry with the Dursleys would be very interesting.

So, Harry nodded to Severus, “Okay.  How do we find these memories?”

For the briefest moment, something very much like triumph flashed through Severus’ eyes and Harry did his best to conceal his sudden wariness.  He’d just played directly into Severus’ plans.  He had no idea if that was a bad thing for him, but it made him nervous.  Why would…  Oh.  Maybe Severus wanted to know as well?  That was quite possible.  The man was bound quite strongly to Dumbledore.  And if he’d vanished right after the first war, it was very possible that he was completely ignorant of what went on in those days.

Harry decided to accept that possibility for the moment, though he would be wary for more hints to the truth.

“I will go into your mind and lead you to your oldest memories.  I believe we can locate it without too much difficulty.”

Harry nodded and lowered his rudimentary shields to let the older man into his mind.  When they were plunged into the darkness of Harry’s mindscape, he obligingly summoned the small _lumos_ light to float just above them as he always did for these sessions.

“Forgotten or repressed memories should be grouped together now,” Severus said thoughtfully, glancing around at the darkness surrounding them.  “I need for you to locate your earliest memory.”

Harry grimaced, but complied with only a small sigh and a nod.  He stalked off into the darkness with the light hovering behind him and Severus following.  He hadn’t gotten around to sorting his memories this far back yet, but once he thought of the memory, he just knew where it was.  Such were the perks of learning to control one’s mindscape.

He stopped abruptly before the memory appeared out of the darkness, and he felt Severus nearly run into his back.  Harry ignored his professor and stared into the black, automatically cringing at the terror and confusion _radiating_ from the still hidden memory.

“We don’t have to observe the whole memory, Harry,” Severus whispered behind him, and Harry felt his hand close firmly over his shoulder.  “I do need to see it in order to help you follow it back, however.”

Harry felt a shudder run down his entire body at the mere thought of touching that memory, but then Severus’ hand tightened slightly on his shoulder and it managed to ground him.  Harry swallowed hard and took a step forward.

The memory came into view, floating in the blackness, playing like a muggle projector on thick fog, the colors muted in shades of sepia.  All he’d have to do is touch it and they’d both be pulled into the full-color version, and to Harry, it would be nearly as powerful as living it again.  He tried really hard to never think of this memory, but he’d never been able to forget it.

The screams of a young boy echoed out of that memory, followed by Vernon’s shouts, the sharp rapport of a firm slap, and more screaming.  Then the heavy _crack_ of the cupboard door snapping shut to plunge the terrified child – it was easier if he didn’t think of it as him – into complete darkness.  He’d feared darkness then.

A full-body shudder wracked his frame, and then two strong hands closed around each of his shoulders and Harry leaned back slightly into his professor’s body, almost desperate to seize on every bit of stability his teacher could offer him.

“Look beyond it, Harry,” Severus whispered very close to his ear.  “Ignore the memory, and look beyond it.  Before it.”

Harry took an unsteady breath and obeyed the soothing voice.  The terrible memory fell out of focus, and Harry saw another behind it.  This one was strangely unfamiliar.  He moved forward, passing the screaming baby boy gratefully, and approaching the murmur of voices in the next memory.

“Keep going.”  Breath brushed against Harry’s ear and he shivered slightly again, though not in response to old emotions this time.  _That’s Professor Snape!_   He reminded himself harshly.  Unfortunately, he was a fifteen-year-old boy and warm breath on his ear was… warm breath on his ear.  With a mental sigh, he decided to ignore it since denying it wasn’t working the way he’d like.

“There,” Severus’ comforting voice came, not _quite_ so close to his ear, just as the next memory appeared.  “Let us enter this one.”

Harry took a bracing breath, and reached out to the memory.

Rather like falling into a pensieve, but in reverse, the little memory cloud seemed to leap up around them.  With Severus’ hands still on his shoulders, Harry was prevented from being pulled into his infant body, and was able to view the memory almost exactly like one would through a pensieve.  Except without the washed-out colors.

They were in the hospital ward.  Harry seemed to be lying in a crib in the back of the ward.  The only other people in the memory were Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore.  Interestingly, unlike a pensieve, which somehow filled in the gaps in the memory so that even things happening directly behind the individual were visible, there were fuzzy patches in this memory that seemed to indicate what he hadn’t been able to see.  Including himself.  Parts of his body were clear, but his face was fuzzy.

Harry frowned at the rather creepy faceless baby Harry, then shook himself when Poppy started speaking, and turned his attention toward her.  She looked terribly distressed.

“Albus, that is not just a curse scar!” she whispered harshly.

“What do you mean, Poppy?” Dumbledore asked with concern.

She took a deep breath, as though to get herself under control.  “I can’t be certain, as I’ve never seen anything like it, but…  There is another magical signature resonating from that scar,” she held up her hand to forestall him when he opened his mouth to speak.  “It is _not_ merely the residue from the curse, Albus.  I _know_ what that looks like, and this is not it.  It is not residual magic.  There is…”  She heaved a shaky sigh and glanced toward baby Harry with concern and pity in her eyes.  “Albus, there is a second magical core in that child’s body.  I think…  I fear…  You-Know-Who’s _soul_ may have taken refuge within the boy.”

Harry watched in horror, taking comfort in the way the hands on his shoulders tightened almost painfully at Poppy’s last sentence.  It was good to know that Harry wasn’t the only one shaken by that suggestion.

Dumbledore just looked very sad, and not at all surprised enough.  “I see…”  He looked toward the baby in the crib and shook his head grimly.  “Oh, Tom…  What have you done?”

There was a sound behind him that was suspiciously like a _growl_.  Harry thought it might be in his best interests to ignore the stoic potions master’s slip in composure.  Harry wasn’t feeling too composed himself, and he would probably be royally brassed once the numbness of shock receded. 

“Albus, I…  Do you know what’s going on?” Poppy asked uneasily.

Dumbledore sighed, “Alas, Poppy, I fear that I may.  I don’t think that Tom’s soul has infested the boy – at least, not all of it.  As I’m sure you know, murder of an innocent fractures the human soul.  I believe when Tom killed James and Lily, then turned his wand on an innocent baby, the strain was too great on his already damaged soul.  I believe a shard of his soul was actually expelled with the curse and latched onto the only other living thing in the room – poor Harry.  It would explain why the Killing Curse failed.  You cannot use it against yourself, though after it was reflected, it would have become little more than a powerful discharge of wild magic, against which Tom had no defense in that moment.  Oh, Harry, you poor, dear child.”

Poppy was paler than some of the Hogwarts ghosts by the time Dumbledore had finished that explanation.  Harry imagined he wasn’t doing any better.  There was a piece of Voldemort’s _soul_ in his body?  _That_ was how he survived the Killing Curse and “defeated” the big bad Dark Lord??  What the hell?!

“What…?  Albus, what can we do for him?” she breathed.

“We can contain it,” Dumbledore said with determination.

“We can’t remove it?”

“Not without killing him.”

There was a long moment of silence while Poppy digested that and Dumbledore looked pensive.

“How do we contain it?”

“I believe…” Dumbledore paused and cast a few quick spells over the baby.  They looked like diagnostic spells, though Harry couldn’t interpret what they said.  Dumbledore nodded.  “Yes.”  He sighed, “Oh, Harry.  You truly are a magnificent child.”  He glanced at Poppy, who was looking curious and hopeful.  “His magic is already fighting against the soul shard, working to contain it.  At his age, that’s… simply remarkable.  And, I suspect, it is the only reason that the shard has not been able to take him over already.”

“What can we do to help, Albus?” Poppy asked almost desperately.

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, as though agreeing with some idea in his head.  “I believe that I can direct the boy’s magic more effectively than it has managed on its own.  It will require most of his present core, and it will leave him weak.  I’ll need you to keep him stable until I can complete the procedure.”

Poppy took a steadying breath and nodded resolutely, moving around to the other side of the crib.  She drew her wand, and looked to Dumbledore.

He nodded and turned his own wand on the baby.  “Begin when I do.”  Then he slashed his wand and began chanting under his breath.

Harry gasped.  Though the distance he was keeping from his memory-self dulled the sensation, he still felt an echo of what he’d felt at that time.  His hand automatically clutched at his chest where the agony was originating, and his knees threatened to give out.

The hands on his shoulders moved and strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him back against a firm chest and supporting him.  Harry clutched at the arms like a lifeline while he struggled to keep his focus on what was happening in the memory other than torturing a toddler.

Both Poppy and Albus’ faces were drawn with concentration.  Both of their eyes were distant, as though they were seeing something that wasn’t visible in the room.  Albus was muttering something continuously under his breath.  The baby was screaming too loud to hear anything else.

Finally, after a relative eternity, it was over.

The room seemed to dim, fading in and out of focus as baby Harry began to drift toward unconsciousness almost immediately.

“Will he be okay?” Poppy asked, her voice sounding somewhat distant.

“Yes,” Dumbledore replied.  “I was able to direct his magic to the task of containing the soul shard, but it has left him very weak.  He probably won’t have enough magic to even do anything accidentally until he is nearly ready to attend Hogwarts, and he will always be weaker than most.  I can empower what magic he does have though.  There’s a certain type of blood ward powered by the love of blood family that should be…”

The memory ended as baby Harry must have fallen asleep.

Shaken in the extreme, Harry couldn’t have held onto his mindscape if his life had depended upon it, and so he found himself back in Severus’ office.

Trembling head-to-toe, Harry could do nothing but curl his arms around his knees and struggle to breathe.  After an indeterminate period of time, he felt cool glass touch his lips and a smooth voice in his ear.

“Drink, Harry.  It’s a calming drought.  Drink it.”

It was probably the only voice in the world that Harry could have trusted in that moment, and he opened his lips and let the sharp flavor of the potion wash over his tongue and slip down his throat.  He then buried his face in his knees and concentrated on breathing while his heart gradually began to slow and his mind began to clear.

He became aware of a hand on his back, not moving, just sitting there, providing some small measure of comfort.  Reminding him that he wasn’t alone.  For the first time, Harry actually realized that he’d come to trust Severus Snape more than anyone else in the world.  He still didn’t fully understand the man’s motivations, but he was somehow convinced that the potions master wouldn’t hurt him – at least not maliciously, which was more than Harry could believe of the vast majority of the world.  And unlike Harry’s friends, Severus actually understood Harry.  After the time he’d spent in Harry’s mind teaching him Occlumency, Severus probably knew him better than anyone ever had.

“How could he have never told me…?” Harry finally breathed, slowly lifting his eyes to meet the troubled black eyes of his teacher.  “How could he keep _that_ from me?”  Whatever measure of trust Harry had ever had for Albus Dumbledore was rapidly burning to ash.

“I don’t know, Harry,” Severus said quietly, his eyes compassionate as he moved to sit in his chair next to Harry again.  “I… have never understood how his mind works.”

“Do you trust him?” Harry asked almost desperately.

Severus’ eyes narrowed slightly and Harry saw indecision in them.

“Please, tell me the truth,” Harry pleaded with remarkably little difficulty.  “I promise that anything you tell me will stay between us, but…  I have to know.”

* * *

Severus studied Harry warily, but he could see only honesty in those green eyes he was coming to know so well.  He felt a brief moment of triumph.  He may not have the boy’s complete trust, but he was willing to bet he had more of it than anyone else at the moment.

“I trust Albus to always do what he believes is best,” Severus said slowly, carefully watching Harry’s reaction.  The boy seemed to be considering his words, but he couldn’t see any inherent desire to doubt Severus’ words.  Severus wasn’t sure how much Harry had ever trusted Albus, but it was obvious that, after seeing that memory, Harry was more than ready to vilify the headmaster.  This really couldn’t be going any better…

“Is there…  Is there any way to confirm that there’s really…?” Harry swallowed hard.  “Is there a way to confirm that he was right about… about there being a shard of the Dark Lord’s… soul in me?” he almost whispered.

Severus considered the question carefully.  Honestly, he wanted to know that too.  When he told the Dark Lord about this, he was going to want to know if it was true.  He nodded slowly.  “Soul magic is not my forte, but I believe I know enough for this…”

“What do I do?” Harry asked without hesitation, sitting up straighter and looking ready to walk through fire without a flame freezing spell if it was required.

Severus knew that he was on thin ice with the boy.  He’d gained a good portion of Harry’s limited ability to trust adults.  If he gave the boy any reason to believe that trust was misplaced, Severus knew that he’d lose him forever.  It was a delicate dance along the line between truth and lies that he now had to walk.  Harry wasn’t ready to know Severus’ true loyalties, but he could not outright lie about them either or the boy would hate him when he did learn the truth.

“Return to your mindscape.”

Harry nodded and his eyes unfocused as his conscious mind retreated within him.

Severus quickly followed.  He found Harry already pacing beneath the faint light.  He turned wary eyes on Severus.  “Based on what Albus did in that memory, I believe we can locate the soul shard – if it exists – by following the draw on your core.  In order to do that, we first need to locate your core.  Now, the easiest way to do that is to draw upon your magic while we are in here.”

Harry frowned uncertainly.  “‘Draw upon my magic’?  Like, cast a spell?”

Severus nodded slowly.  Sometimes, he forgot how much the boy still didn’t know.  “You don’t need to actually cast a spell.  Just pull on your magic as you would when you cast a spell.  Instead of releasing it immediately into the spell, just hold onto it.  Leave it within your body.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he nodded resolutely.  Then he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

After a few seconds, Severus felt the “air” around him begin to grow thicker, filled with an almost electric sense of crackling power.  It grew steadily stronger for at least ten seconds.  By the time Harry opened his eyes again, Severus felt jittery with the flux of foreign magic surrounding him.

“What now?” Harry asked distractedly, his attention obviously split between the mindscape and his hold on his magic.  It was another reminder of the boy’s inexperience.

“Now you need to follow the flow of your magic back to the source.  If you concentrate, you should be able to feel it.”

Harry blinked a few times and his eyes unfocused for a long moment.  He slowly turned in place until he was facing the direction he wanted, then he began to walk that way.

Severus hastily followed.

After at least ten minutes of walking through darkness illuminated only in their immediate surrounds by that faint light, Harry finally stopped.  “I can feel it,” he whispered.

“Good, Harry.  Now I need for you to _see_ it.”

“How?”

“Just concentrate.  Will it to be visible.”

Two.  Three.  Four seconds, and then…

Severus threw up an arm to shield his eyes from the suddenly blinding light in front of them.

“Whoa,” Harry breathed, unbothered by the intensity of the light that was his own magical core.  “That’s… awesome.”

“Quite,” Severus smirked slightly. _Merlin,_ that was bright. 

Harry chuckled nervously as though he’d only just remembered that he wasn’t alone.  “What now?”

“Can you see the patterns in which the magic is flowing from your core?”

“Yeah…  Can’t you?”

Severus shook his head quickly, his arm still between his eyes and the source of the light.  “It is too bright.”

“Is that normal?”

“That depends,” Severus said dryly.

“On what?”

“On your power, Harry.  I imagine that Albus or the Dark Lord may have a core similar to this.”

“Oh,” Harry said very quietly.

“Most of your magic should be flowing in two directions,” Severus pressed on.  “One direction is what you’re presently drawing.  You can release that now that we are here.”

After about a second, the stifling sense of magic surrounding them waned, though the intensity of the radiance did not diminish at all.  That would not change unless the boy was significantly magically depleted.

“Now you need only follow the greatest remaining flow of your magic.  If it is truly containing a soul shard still, it should be a significant draw.”

“I see it,” Harry almost whispered, but he didn’t move.  Severus suspected he was afraid of what they’d find.

Taking a breath, Severus stepped forward and rested his free hand on the boy’s shoulder.  Severus had never been a great fan of casual touch given his own difficult childhood, but Harry seemed to draw some comfort from it, so he did it anyway.

Harry took a shuddering breath, then nodded and started moving.

Severus kept his hand on the boy, and unlike the last trip, this one seemed to pass almost without his awareness.  The next thing he knew, the boy was backing up into him.  No longer facing the brilliant light of Harry’s magical core, Severus was able to put a hand on each of Harry’s shoulders.

“Will it to be visible,” Severus whispered close to the boy’s ear.

Harry shuddered almost imperceptibly, then took a bracing breath and…

There, in front of them, was…  An undulating orb of Harry’s brilliantly glowing magic.  From a strand that stretched behind them, the magic was all but pouring into that orb.  Every few seconds, a tendril of writhing, bloody red… _something_ would penetrate the orb, only to be immediately devoured by the verdant magic. 

It was… strangely beautiful and terrifying at once, not least because Severus could actually _feel_ the Dark Lord’s magic every time the crimson escaped.  His Mark throbbed with recognition each time, eliminating any possibility of the likeness being his imagination.

“I think…” Harry whispered after a long moment.  “I think that more than half of my core is powering this.  All the time.”

Severus nodded silently.  Though he couldn’t see Harry’s core the way the boy could, it was easy enough to believe.  The simple fact that Harry’s magic was as strong as it was despite this constant draw was frankly astonishing.  Albus had said all those years ago that he didn’t think Harry would even have enough magic to do any accidental magic until he was nearly eleven, but Severus had seen the boy doing accidental magic as young as four in Harry’s memories.  His magic truly was extraordinary.  Without this draw, Harry would be frighteningly powerful.  And his core was not yet even fully developed.

“Dumbledore did this when I was a baby,” Harry said, almost to himself.  “Is there…?  I mean…  Surely now that I’m so much older, there _must_ be a better way to deal with this.  Occlumency, maybe?”

Severus nodded thoughtfully.  “As I said, soul magic is not my specialty.  However…  I do know someone who may be able to help.”

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Severus, his green eyes uncertain.  “I…  I don’t know if it’s safe to tell anyone about this.”

Severus nodded his agreement.  “A valid point.  However…”  He hesitated on the point of a lie, reminding himself of how fragile Harry’s trust was.  Was it too soon to tell the boy the truth?  Or would it be better to do it now while he was so off-balance and disillusioned to Albus?

Harry drew away from him and turned around to look at him.  His eyes were wary.  “What?” he half-asked, half-demanded.

Severus stifled a sigh.  “Let us return to my office, Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the first half of the old chapters. I'll post the rest probably tomorrow or Thursday and the new chapter hopefully shortly thereafter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but here it is!

* * *

* * *

**1 April 1996 - Monday**

Harry returned to his body feeling suddenly _very_ wary.  He’d been sensing for weeks that there was something Severus was keeping from him.  Something he was… leading up to.  That sense had just come back in spades.  He had a feeling that his teacher was about to broach the subject he’d been avoiding, and he had no idea if it would increase his trust of his teacher or shatter it.

Severus was studying him again, looking about as apprehensive as Harry had ever seen the potions master.  “Harry…  I know that you don’t give your trust lightly.  I am the same in that regard.  There are very few people who have ever gained my trust.  Fewer still who’ve retained it over a length of time.  I do not wish to betray your trust.  It is for that reason, that I feel it is time I told you a bit more about myself.”

“Okay,” Harry said cautiously.

Severus took a bracing breath before continuing.  “I do trust you, Harry.  More than most.  I greatly appreciate your earlier offer to keep my confidence.  However, in this instance…  Would you consent to give me a wand oath that what I tell you about me in this office tonight will remain strictly between us unless I give you explicit permission to share it?”

Harry leaned back slightly in his chair, made both nervous and pleased by the question.  He couldn’t really fault the man for asking for the oath.  Trust was something that couldn’t be earned completely in as short a time as they’d been getting along.

After a long moment of hesitation, Harry drew his wand.  He noticed the smallest moment of relief pass through Severus’ eyes at the gesture.  This obviously mattered to him.

Harry gave the wording a moment of thought, then lifted his wand.  “I swear on my magic that anything Severus Snape shares with me about himself from now until I next leave his office, I will not in any way intentionally confide to anyone not already privy to the information without Severus’ explicit permission.  So mote it be.”

There was a flash of light as Harry felt his magic bind him to the vow, and then he put his wand back in his pocket and stared at Severus expectantly.

The man gave him the shadow of a smile.  “Thank you, Harry.”

He just nodded and waited.

Severus wandlessly reheated his cup of tea from earlier, sipping it before he started.  “I’m a halfblood,” he started.  “My mother, Eileen Prince, was a witch.  Her family was… traditional, but preferred to stay out of wizarding wars.  They were similar to the Greengrass family – widely considered Dark, but politically neutral.  When my mother fell in love with a muggle, and married him against her father’s wishes…  She was disowned.”

Harry was staggered by what he was learning.  Of all the things he might have expected Severus’ to tell him after that vow, the man’s family history had not factored in.  Still, he was fascinated, and listened intently.

“That is the reason that I grew up a Snape,” he sneered slightly at his father’s surname.  “I was raised quite poor, in a small industrial town.  Now, your first thought may be to cheer my mother’s independence and romanticism in following her heart at the expense of her family’s wishes regarding the bloodline.  In this case, however, that would be a mistake.  My father was…  Well, he was not as bad as Vernon Dursley, but he was not all that much better.”

Harry grimaced at the comparison, instantly willing to believe any horrible thing of any man Severus could compare to Vernon Dursley after seeing some of Harry’s memories of the monster.

Severus nodded slightly, “I’m glad to see that you understand my meaning.  I was lucky in some ways.  My childhood was not as bad as yours, namely because I had my mother.  She was a weak-willed woman who allowed herself to be dominated by that horrible muggle she married, but she always loved me.  She always tried to protect me.  He killed her when I was thirteen.  Luckily, I had by then learned how to avoid invoking his ire most of the time.

“My father was a drunk, you see.  For the most part, if I could stay out of his sight while he was drunk, he didn’t even think about me.  When he was sober, most of his abuse was merely verbal.

“After my mother, the first person I learned to trust was… a muggleborn girl who lived down the street,” he said quietly, his eyes distant.  “We were nine when I first noticed her doing accidental magic.  I told her about the magical world, and she became my first friend.  When we went to Hogwarts, I was sorted into Slytherin.  She was sorted into Gryffindor.”

Harry blinked at that.  Considering Severus’ very well-known hatred of all things Gryffindor, he’d have never guessed that Severus might have, at one time, actually liked one of them.  Which led to the obvious conclusion that the difference in houses had come between them, engendering his hatred for the House of Lions.

“As you can no doubt imagine,” he went on, “it was not easy to maintain a friendship between a snake and a lion.”

Harry nodded silently.

“We persevered for several years despite that.”  He paused for a moment, as though trying to decide how to go on.  “She was my first friend, and I cared for her a great deal.  I believe, however, that you’ll understand what I mean when I say that there was always a certain distance between us.  There were things about me that she could never understand.”

Harry swallowed hard at the implication.  Like Hermione and Ron, Severus’ friend had come from a happy home.  She could never truly understand him.  It was strange to realize that he and Severus had experienced that same thing.  Though it was now confirmed just why Severus _did_ seem to understand, and a relief to think that it probably wasn’t _pity_ that had caused Severus to start being nicer to him.

“As we grew up, we… grew apart.  We were in different houses.  We had different friends.  My friends hated her and her friends hated me.  In addition to our different backgrounds…  It was too much for our childhood friendship to endure.  By our fifth year, our friendship had degenerated to little more than occasionally partnering together in shared classes and greeting each other in the corridors.  At the end of that year, our differences clashed.  We had a particularly… vicious falling out, and that was the end of us.”

Interesting as all of this was, Harry was very much aware of the fact that this was leading _somewhere_.  Severus had a point in relating all of this, and Harry was very nervous as to what that might be.  Still…  He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get an opening to ask about this again.  Considering that he was under wand oath to keep this private, it seemed the time to ask.  “Did you love her?” he ventured warily, prepared for Severus to shut him out harshly.

Instead, Severus just grimaced faintly.  “I loved her as a sister,” he admitted.  “There was never anything more.”

Harry nodded, glad that his question had been answered, and not prepared to press his luck.

Severus took a breath and went on.  “After she was officially out of my life, I…  I had little left.  I’d never actually learned to trust anyone else.  My mother was dead, my… sister was gone.  I threw myself fully into my potions.”

Harry nodded again.  Severus didn’t need to say it for Harry to understand how lonely he must have felt.  It was how Harry would feel if Severus were to return to hating him and Ron and Hermione stopped talking to him.  There wouldn’t be much left except to look to the future.  For Severus, that future would have been in his potions.

“As a result of my focus,” Severus continued, “I managed, in my seventh year, to patent the Dreamless Sleep potion.”

Harry’s eyes widened.  “ _You_ invented the Dreamless Sleep potion?”

Severus smirked slightly and he nodded.

“Before you even graduated.”

“Yes, Harry,” Severus said, clearly amused.  “You were aware that I was a potions master, were you not?”

Harry shook his head in awe.  The Dreamless Sleep potion, as far as Harry knew, was pretty much a standard part of any medical supply, a staple in the medical field for mediwizards and mind healers both as well as available for public sale.  And Severus had invented it before he even graduated Hogwarts.

Severus actually chuckled, a very rare occurrence.  “I’m not sure if I should be flattered by how obviously impressed you are or insulted that you’d clearly thought so little of me.”

Harry cleared his throat sheepishly.  “Sorry.  I just…  I honestly had no idea that the Dreamless Sleep potion was such a recent invention.”

Severus looked vaguely exasperated at that.  “It was in your third year curriculum, Mr. Potter.”

“Oh,” Harry gulped.

“Quite,” Severus frowned, but there was enough mirth in his eyes that he obviously wasn’t too insulted.  “We’ll come back to your academic shortcomings another time,” he threatened mildly.  “Now, as you’ve deduced, the Dreamless Sleep potion was a major boon to the medical community.  It garnered me a huge amount of recognition in the field of potions, an apprenticeship to commence immediately upon my graduation, and it drew the attention of the Dark Lord himself.”

Harry’s breathing shallowed as he suddenly began to see where this entire thing had been heading.  He held himself still and kept his expression neutral though.

Severus’ eyes narrowed very slightly, suggesting that he probably wasn’t fooled.  “Shortly after I started my apprenticeship, I was approached by Lucius Malfoy.  He was five years ahead of me in school, of course from the same house, so I was acquainted with him, but I had never known him well.  He… recruited me.  After meeting with me a few times, he took me to meet the Dark Lord.”

He sighed thoughtfully, his eyes distant as he remembered.  “Lord Voldemort,” Harry blinked at hearing the man say the name for the first time ever, “he was unlike anyone else I’d ever met.  Of course, I knew by then that he wasn’t the nicest person around, but then…” he smirked faintly, “neither was I.”

Harry managed a small smile at that.  No one would ever accuse Severus Snape of being “nice”.

“He was… a uniquely beautiful man, as you likely recall from your encounter with his memory in that diary in your second year.”

Harry nodded.  Even at twelve he’d found Tom Riddle quite beautiful.

“And then there was his magic.  That was my first impression of him.  The sense of pure power that filled the entire room.  This too, I suspect you will be able to understand as few others can.  Unlike Albus’ magic, which seemed to promise love and acceptance in a way that made me acutely wary, the Dark Lord’s magic was power and control and danger, but not malicious.”

“Not malicious,” Harry frowned.

“Well, he was attempting to recruit me, not planning to kill me,” Severus pointed out.

Harry nodded, allowing that.

“Lord Voldemort’s magic was something I could understand.  The Dark Lord felt like someone who could perhaps understand me.  Appreciate me for who I was rather than expecting me to become something else, as Albus does.”

Harry frowned warily, catching the present tense at the end there.

“Essentially, despite so very much power and his rather… daunting reputation, Lord Voldemort felt almost familiar.  Being in his presence was like… coming home – though obviously no home I’d ever actually known.  It was so much better.”

Harry stared at his professor – who’d lately become his favorite adult and something almost like a friend – with realization and mild horror curdling in his stomach.  He understood now why he’d never heard his professor speak the Dark Lord’s name before.  When he said it, there was no disguising the _reverence_ in his tone.  It may have been because he was recalling what he’d felt at the time, but Harry didn’t think so.  If he’d truly been disillusioned to the Dark Lord, he’d have been bitter at the memory of being duped.

The wand oath made sense now, that was for damn sure.  Severus was telling him that he was loyal to Voldemort.  _Still_ loyal.

_Fuck…_

“I see that you begin to understand,” Severus almost whispered.

Harry fought the urge to flee the room.  If Severus meant to kill or kidnap him now, he’d not have bothered with the vow.  If he truly meant to hurt him, he’d had more than enough opportunities this term.  So _what the hell_ was the point in this confession?

Severus, blessedly, said nothing, giving him time to think.

Why was Severus telling him this?  What had prompted him to start?  They’d been talking about…

_Oh Gods…_

Severus, loyal Death Eater, knew that Harry had a shard of Voldemort’s _soul_ inside of him.  …and there was someone – a “friend” – that he wanted to talk to about it.

* * *

Severus watched warily as the emotions fluttered across the boy’s face.  He really hadn’t expected Harry to catch on quite so quickly, despite the fact that he’d learned that Harry was much more intelligent and cunning than anyone gave him credit for – which seemed to be by Harry’s design.

As soon as he spoke of the Dark Lord’s magic feeling like “home”, he’d seen realization bloom in those expressive green eyes.  He felt certain that Harry knew now where Severus’ true loyalty lay.

Horrified understanding became touched with fear on the boy’s face, and then he started to look a little green.

Severus frowned, wondering where that unusual mind had taken the young man.

Slowly, the fearful, nauseous look faded from Harry’s face, replaced by cautious calculation.  “You’ve had many opportunities to kill or capture me,” was the first thing the boy said.  “Given your loyalties, why haven’t you?”

Severus nodded, finding himself rather impressed by the boy – yet again.  Of everything Harry could have concluded from this revelation, he’d managed to find his way directly to the most important and most suspect point.  “As you’ve gathered, the Dark Lord impressed me on our meeting, and I agreed to join him.  I was given the Mark within a year, which is quite a short time for such a thing, particularly given my age.  I never had the stomach for some of the more… colorful aspects of the Dark Lord’s organization, and he never tried to force me to take part.  I served as his potions master, and as a guard on various occasions, as I am also an accomplished duelist.

“In a rather short time, I came to see Lord Voldemort as something of a father figure,” he admitted quietly.  “He was the first man… the first adult other than my mother, to ever truly care for me.”

Severus almost smirked at the wide-eyed disbelief with which Harry received that last statement.  “Harry, what do you know about the Dark Lord?” he couldn’t help but pose.  “Not _believe_ ,” he added when the boy opened his mouth.  “What do you _know_?”

Harry slowly closed his mouth again and gave it a moment of thought.  “He killed my parents,” he said finally.  “He’s tried to kill me directly three times, and as of last June, he wanted me dead,” he spoke slowly, as though checking every word for authenticity before voicing it.  “His father hated magic and abandoned his mother when he found out that she was a witch – before he was born.  He grew up in a muggle orphanage.  That’s why he hates his real name.  He was named after his father, who he killed later…”

Severus brow rose higher and higher as Harry spoke.  He was utterly shocked by how much the boy knew.  Severus knew all of that, but…  Well, he was his Lord’s closest confidant.  “How do you know all of that, Harry?”

The boy shook his head, his brow still furrowed in thought.  “He told me,” he said quietly.  “Last year, in the graveyard.  Before…  Before.”  His eyes narrowed in thought again and Severus didn’t interrupt.

After about a minute, Harry spoke again.  “He opened the Chamber of Secrets in his fifth year at Hogwarts, and the basilisk killed Myrtle – I don’t think that was intentional though.  Then he blamed Hagrid for it so the school wouldn’t get shut down.  He didn’t want to go back to the orphanage…” his eyes were distant as he recalled.

“He’s cruel.  He likes to hurt people.  He loves power more than anything – except maybe his own life.  He hates Dumbledore.  He’s brilliant and charismatic.  He’s a good liar.  He hates muggles and muggleborns.  And… as of last June, he wanted me dead pretty badly.”  His brilliant green eyes finally focused on Severus again.  “You haven’t answered my question.  If you’re loyal to the Dark Lord, why am I still alive?”

Severus nodded, though he found himself rather intrigued by just how much Harry _did_ know about the Dark Lord.  More than most, Severus was sure.  Well, _much_ more than most, honestly.

He hesitated a moment, but Harry was taking this remarkably well so far.  He was suspicious and very wary, but he hadn’t condemned Severus yet.  Given what the boy had been through in his life, Severus suspected that honesty – full disclosure, even – was the way to go.  He took a breath, and spoke quietly.  “Late in 1979, there was a prophecy made.  I heard only the beginning of it.  ‘The one with the Power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.  Born to those who have thrice defied him.  Born as the seventh month dies.’  That is all that I heard.”

Harry’s eyes were very wide, his mouth slightly open, but he didn’t speak.

“I heard that, and it frightened me.  Greatly.  I… loved Lord Voldemort as a father.  And not only was there prophesized to be one who would ‘vanquish’ him, but the only other person to hear that was Albus – the man who would take fullest advantage of it.  I went to the Dark Lord immediately.  I told him what I had heard.”

Harry sagged in his chair and Severus could see him beginning to build up emotional walls between them again.

“Please let me finish, Harry,” Severus requested quietly.

Harry nodded stiffly, but he still looked ready to lock himself away from Severus and throw away the key.

Severus took a breath, and started again.  “I don’t regret what I did, Harry.  I can’t because, given what I knew then, I would do it again.  I did not, at that time, know that the child would be you.  I never guessed that the woman to bear the prophesized child would be… the only friend I’d ever had.  …my sister.”

Harry’s mouth slipped open again.

Severus nodded.  “Yes.  My friend was Lily Evans – Potter, by this time.  When I realized that the Dark Lord had chosen you out as the child of prophecy…  When I realized that he was going after Lily…  I… begged him to spare her.”

He fell silent as Harry seemed to have slipped into deep thought again.  He gave the boy time to wrap his mind around what he’d just learned.  Eventually, those green eyes focused on him again.  When he did not move to speak, Severus continued his explanation.

“He agreed,” he said quietly.  “I rarely asked him for anything.  He agreed to give me that boon.  After she died – after they both did – I was… crushed.  Destroyed, utterly.  I did not know what had happened to Lord Voldemort, but I believed that he’d lied to me.  I believed then, in my grief, that he’d betrayed my trust.  My love.  And that, perhaps, damaged me even more effectively than losing them both.

“I went to Albus.  I… repented,” he sneered slightly.  “I made an oath that night – an Unbreakable Vow – to protect you.  To protect the boy for whom Lily had died.”

There was silence in the room for long moments before Severus gathered himself enough to go on.  “After that night, I left.  I… grieved.  I…  Frankly, I stewed – wallowed in my misery.  I grew increasingly bitter.  Everyone I’d ever truly viewed as family was dead.  My mother.  My sister.  My father.  And, in my despair, I began to believe that I’d sworn myself to protect the one responsible for the deaths of the latter two.  If not for you, Lily would not have been targeted.  If not for you, Lord Voldemort would not have been… _vanquished_.  I began to picture you as your father reborn.  Everything that I hated.  Spoiled.  Arrogant.  Cruel.  And beloved by the ignorant masses for the night that you killed the two people I loved most in the world.”

He sighed quietly and wrenched himself from his dark thoughts.  “That is why I hated you, Harry.  It truly had nothing to do with you.  I hated you because of events you could not control, parents you could not choose, enemies you had not earned, and an imprudent vow of which you were not even aware.  I was foolish and I was _wrong_.  While I built in my mind this image of my greatest enemy in the body of a child, you were left to the non-existent mercies of those foul muggles.

“When Lord Voldemort returned…  I did not expect his forgiveness.  I expected him to kill me.  Indeed, I _wanted_ to die.  For every mistake I’d made in my life, for everything that I could not take back, I just wanted it to end.  But he didn’t kill me.  Oh, he wasn’t pleased with me, but…  But he forgave me.  As I forgave him.  He did not hold it against me that, though I was in the best position to destroy you, I could not do so because of that vow.

“Harry,” he sighed.  “I know that you can understand that I don’t feel that way anymore.  Over the last four months, I have come to understand exactly how wrong I was with regard to you.  I have come to honestly care for you as I’ve cared for very few in my life.”

* * *

Harry looked into the open, honest, repentant face of the man that he had, earlier today, trusted more than anyone else in the world.  And all he felt was tired.  Exhausted, actually.  Severus seemed to be telling the truth – indeed, if he was going to lie, he could have made it considerably more pleasant a tale.

It certainly explained why he’d seemed to hate Harry so very much upon only just meeting him.  He’d always known that Severus had hated his father, and he’d assumed that that was the cause of the hatred, but this was a much better reason.

Worse – he could understand where the man was coming from.  He could almost empathize.  How would he feel if Severus betrayed him like that?  If he used information Harry had provided to kill Ron and Hermione, and managed to get himself killed in the process?  He didn’t see Severus as a father.  He’d never had a father and he definitely had no desire to adopt one now, but…  He did see him as something tentatively in the realm of a friend.  A friend who actually understood him as Ron and Hermione never would.

Oh yes, he could imagine the ache of that betrayal only too well.  It was threatening to rise in him now in response to what he’d just learned.

As he thought back over it though, he realized that Severus had never lied to him.  Never any more than the man had lied to himself, at least.  And now he’d told him the truth, though he certainly hadn’t had to do that.  Definitely not that fully.  It wouldn’t have been difficult for him to twist that into a more flattering rendition of events without actually lying.  He could have left out the fact that he’d been the one to put the target on Harry.  He could have pretended to feel badly for it.

But he hadn’t.  He’d told the plain truth, so far as Harry could tell.  No one could change the past.  Would there be any point in holding this against him?  None that Harry could imagine.  He could lose his teacher and his friend and gain one more enemy in the world.  That hardly seemed beneficial.

More importantly, could his relationship with Severus continue as it had after learning this?  Well, absolutely not.  But did it have to be worse?  Or maybe just different?  He wasn’t optimistic enough to assume that it would make anything _better_ , but it was an outside possibility.  After all, their relationship had improved when Severus had learned Harry’s past.  The reverse could serve a similar purpose.

Okay, so he could deal with this, he decided.  The question was… what did Severus plan to do now?  What was he going to do with the information he’d gained about Harry tonight?

“Why did you tell me this?” he finally asked.

He saw Severus relax just slightly, relieved that Harry hadn’t screamed at him or stormed out, perhaps.  “Two and a half months ago,” Severus said carefully, “I…  I took the memories that I’d seen in your mind to Lord Voldemort.  I conveyed to him the truth of your past.”

Harry sighed unhappily, though he’d basically expected by this point that Severus would be telling Voldemort anything and everything.

“I did not do it lightly, Harry.  I suspected – I _hoped_ – that he would see in you what I had seen.”

“And what is that?” Harry asked tiredly.

“Strength,” Severus admitted.  “Constitution.  …desperation.”

Harry’s lip curled slightly at that last descriptor.

“I wanted him to see that you did not necessarily oppose him on principle, but simply out of a will to live that is all but impossible to quench.  The childhood that you survived – how remarkably well you survived it – that is…  Astonishing.  I wanted him to see that it was possible you need not be our enemy.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed at the “our”.  He didn’t think of Severus as his enemy anymore.  Or he _hadn’t_.  But seeing as the man was firmly on Voldemort’s side…  He shook his head in mild disbelief.  “You’re actually trying to recruit me,” he realized.

Severus just nodded, openly admitting the fact.  “Harry, you cannot tell me that you oppose the Dark Lord on moral standing.  I’m certain that you don’t oppose him because Albus tells you that it is the right thing to do or because the rabid public expects it of you.”

Harry frowned, but couldn’t refute that.  “I don’t believe that muggleborns deserve to die,” he pointed out.

Severus shrugged dismissively.  “The Dark Lord does not despise them because of their blood as some of his followers do.  He hates muggles.  The distaste for muggleborns is derived from the fact that they tend to think like muggles and sympathize with them.  Were he to gain control of magical Britain, muggleborns would be taken from their muggle relatives as soon as possible.  Raised as wizards and witches.  They would be no different from us then.

“Frankly, Harry, your background gives you more in common with many of the Dark Lord’s followers than Dumbledore’s.  Albus inspires idealists.  And idealists do not come from painful backgrounds such as ours.  Granted, some are pampered purebloods such as the Malfoys, the Blacks, and the Lestranges.  But you would be surprised how many are halfbloods and muggleborns given reason to loathe the muggles during their childhoods.

“Of course, we don’t often discuss our pasts or our blood status.  Once we are Marked, we are absolved of such stains on our history.  We are all equal under our Lord.”

Harry had to admit, Severus’ arguments were compelling.  The man was a true believer, and that came through loud and clear in his every word.  Harry took a moment to observe just how gifted a spy the man truly must be to have Dumbledore so thoroughly fooled.

Then he moved on to thinking about what he was actually being offered here.  “So you showed Voldemort a handful of my memories and he just decided to forgive and forget everything?” he asked doubtfully.

“He realized that there was another option,” Severus countered.  “He saw, through those memories, that you are not one of Albus’ sycophantic idealists.  That you might be able to understand his perspective.  There has never been any question that you would be a valuable asset to his cause.  But you had always seemed unattainable.

“Harry, you don’t need to throw your life away fighting for someone else’s ideals,” he said fervently.

Harry frowned pensively.  Of course, opting out of the conflict entirely was out of the question.  He was Harry Potter, unfortunately.  His name alone meant too much to the public for him to ever be able to just stand aside and let Dumbledore and Voldemort fight out their war without him.  He’d thought that Dumbledore would always try to use him and Voldemort would always try to kill him.  That left him with few enough options.

Now it seemed like both sides had decided to try to use him.

Given what he knew about each side and the friends that he had on both sides, it was not an easy choice to make.  If he declared himself against Voldemort, he knew that he would lose Severus completely.  Even if the man was bound to protect him, he would hate him if Harry was working to destroy the man he saw as a father.  If he chose Voldemort’s side, what would happen to Ron, whose parents were staunch followers of Dumbledore, or Hermione, who was a muggleborn?  Neville would hate him, given what had happened to his parents.  Unlike Harry, Neville had grown up hearing about how wonderful his parents were from his grandmother.  He’d grown up visiting them in the hospital – constantly reminded of what had become of them and what he had missed out on.

Harry had spent the first ten years of his life that he remembered being told that his parents were worthless, despicable drunks who’d killed themselves and almost killed him in a car wreck.  Even after learning the truth, it had been too late for him to suddenly start mourning them.  And he wasn’t as idealistic as Neville.  He couldn’t prioritize revenge over prudence – not revenge for people he’d never even known.

And that was another important point.  If he chose Dumbledore’s side, he’d spend the rest of his life surrounded by people that could never understand him.  People who would never truly know him.  The only person he’d known in his whole life who could understand him was Severus.  And according to him, Voldemort’s side is where people like them went.  Given what Harry knew about Voldemort himself, he rather believed that.  He was less clear on whether or not he – _Harry Potter_ – could ever fit in among them.

“I need to think about this,” Harry admitted grimly.  He knew that this wasn’t a decision he could make right now.

Severus just nodded.  “It’s after curfew anyway.  We can continue this discussion on Friday.”  His eyes were searching Harry’s face and Harry suspected that there was more he would like to say, but he was restraining himself.

Harry nodded as well and headed for the door.  He paused just before opening it.  “Thanks for telling me the truth,” he said quietly without looking back, then fled the room before Severus could reply.

Wandering the halls after curfew was dangerous these days, with the Inquisitorial Squad searching out victims to feed the High Inquisitor’s sadism, so Harry didn’t wander the school as he had in previous years.  Neither did he want to return to Gryffindor Tower though.  Ron and Hermione would probably be waiting up for him, and he wasn’t ready to face them.  Not with this on his mind.  So he turned left at the top of the stairs instead of right and summoned the Room of Requirement.

He blinked at the darkness he’d entered, and then smiled slightly when he realized what he’d needed without even realizing it.  He was in a replica of his mindscape.  Confident that the Room would not allow anyone else to enter it while he was in there, he moved toward the center of the room and lowered himself onto the floor, enclosed in total darkness and the damp, cool smell of stone that was so unlike his cupboard.

With a sigh of relief, he let his mind wander to the conundrum Severus had presented him tonight.  It would be easier had the man been on Dumbledore’s side.  Then all of his friends would have been on one side.  That would have made his choice so much easier.

But he wasn’t. 

Harry smiled slightly.  Evidently, he had, in fact, been justified in doubting the potions master’s loyalties all these years even though everyone had chastised him for it.  Severus was most definitely a spy – just not for the side that everyone thought.  Harry had known that his instincts weren’t wrong about him.

But Severus wasn’t the sadistic bastard that Harry had long thought either.  He wasn’t all that different from Harry.  If he was being honest with himself, Harry had to admit that Severus was his best friend.  He said that he cared about Harry, and Harry believed that.  The way he’d acted said that far louder than any words the man could ever utter.  And he actually _knew_ Harry, unlike the Gryffindors that cared about him.  He knew him better than anyone.  And he still cared.

But Harry wouldn’t allow himself to make this decision based on Severus alone.  He couldn’t.  That would be incredibly naïve.  If, or more likely _when_ , he and Severus grew apart – because honestly, the man was his teacher and twenty years his senior, which was just not a good basis for friendship – then he’d be stuck with his decision.  And if Severus ever did betray him – if all of this had truly been nothing more than a ploy to lure him to Voldemort’s side – it would destroy Harry if he based his life around that.

So.  The Light or the Dark?

Well, the Dark was responsible for killing his parents and trying to kill him on several occasions, but that hadn’t ever been personal.  Voldemort had attacked a threat – a very serious threat if he truly believed that prophecy.  Harry couldn’t judge him for that.  He’d done the same thing, after all.  He’d kept the Stone from Voldemort in his first year, and killed Quirrell – however unintentionally.  In his second year, he’d destroyed that diary and killed that version of Voldemort that was trying to come back.  Last year…  Well, last year he’d failed to do much more than make Voldemort look a bit silly, but that had to be a really bad thing for a Dark Lord – and in front of his most trusted followers, no less.

And yet Voldemort was willing to give him another chance.  He had to see Harry as a very potentially valuable asset to do that.

That was an important distinction between Voldemort and Dumbledore.  Harry understood Voldemort – increasingly with Severus’ estimation of him.  Voldemort had a shitty childhood and decided to use his immense magical power to become something more.

Power.  Severus had said that his core was comparable to Voldemort or Dumbledore.  That was… difficult to wrap his mind around.  Having seen just how much he was syphoning into containing that soul shard though…  He could actually believe it.  He should have been the weakest student in his year by a lot with that kind of constant draw, but he was actually more powerful than most – if not by a lot.  If that draw was removed…  He might actually be that powerful.

If he could remove that – and get properly trained…  It was possible…  Well, he didn’t think that he was completely out of line to think that the choice he made now could actually tip the balance of the war.  Particularly if that prophecy was real.  The power to vanquish the Dark Lord.  It hadn’t said that he _would_.  But that he _could_.  That was an important distinction.  It could just as easily have said that he’d have the power to vanquish Dumbledore.

Merlin, it was strange to imagine himself having that kind of power.  He’d spent so much of his life being told that he was worthless, and now he was faced with the possibility that his contribution could turn the tide of the war.  He’d been told he was a burden, and now he had the two most powerful wizards in Britain both trying to secure his allegiance – well, Voldemort was trying; Dumbledore was presuming he’d always have it, even if he ignored Harry completely.  He’d been told he was a freak…  Well, maybe he was a freak, insofar as Voldemort and Dumbledore were freaks.  He was not like most witches and wizards.  He had power, both magical and political.

He… _mattered_.

How fucking weird was that?


	6. Negotiations

* * *

* * *

**2 April 1996 - Tuesday**

Harry had no idea how long he’d been sitting in that lightless room contemplating the epiphany that he actually mattered.  Oh, he’d gone through something similar upon discovering that he was a huge celebrity in the magical world, but it had been simple enough to dismiss that.  After all, none of those people that loved him for being Harry Potter actually knew anything about him.  He wasn’t anything more than a fairy story to them.  He was an ideal that existed more in their minds than his body.

This was different.  He was, for the first time in his life, actually valuable.  Not just because of his name and some freak circumstance that happened before he was old enough to actually remember.  In this, he truly had power.

His entire world was shifting to make room for this astonishing fact.  Oh, he still had a lot to learn before he could reliably put any of that power into affecting real changes, but it was there.  And he wasn’t the only one who knew it.  Actually, he might be the last one realizing this fact.  What he’d always previously dismissed as being only because of his name and legend may have actually been more than that.  In some cases.

And so, like Spiderman, he now had a choice to make.  He had “great responsibility” to put his power behind something.  He just had to figure out _what_.

What did he actually believe?  What did he actually care about?  It wasn’t something he’d ever had reason to consider.  Not with regard to the war.  He hadn’t ever had a choice in that before.  He could die.  He could fight.  Or he could run and try to avoid both – probably not successfully.  Given those options…  Well, he didn’t want to die, and spending his life hiding and hoping he wasn’t found didn’t seem like much of a future.

But now he had a choice.  Voldemort was giving him a choice.  Unlike in first year, Harry actually believed it this time.  Well, mostly.  He could see why it would benefit the Dark Lord to give him this chance, so he could believe that it was real.  When he was eleven, he hadn’t been able to imagine any reason that Voldemort wouldn’t just kill him at the first opportunity.  He still wasn’t sure he’d been wrong then.

But now it was different.  Severus had made a choice to tell Voldemort – to _show_ him those memories.  And now he had a choice.  Voldemort or Dumbledore.  Dark or Light.  Defending the status quo, or rewriting it.  Toeing the line or drawing a new one.  He could do what the world expected of The Great Harry Potter, or he could follow Voldemort and give the two-finger salute to all those fickle bastards.  He could play the Gryffindor Golden Boy forever or he could stop living his life under metaphorical masks in exchange for a literal mask.

Voldemort had killed his parents and any chance he’d had for a “normal”…ish life.  Since then, he and his followers had tried to kill Harry on a number of occasions.  They’d made him participate in that stupid tournament.  Because of them, he and his friends had been in more life and death situations than he really wanted to contemplate.

The only good thing that had ever happened to him because of them was Severus.  His friend and teacher, who’d taught him to organize and protect his mind.  Well, Dumbledore had ordered it, but Severus – and he was sure, Voldemort – had made the choice to actually teach him in a way that he could learn.

Dumbledore hadn’t killed his parents, but he’d left him with the Dursleys.  In some perversely misguided attempt to counteract the draw on his magic from that soul shard’s prison, he’d been sent to the Dursleys.  Dumbledore thought that their “love” would make him stronger.

He blinked.  _That_ was why Dumbledore truly believed that they loved him despite Harry asking to go anywhere else during the summer – even stay at school.  It made an odd kind of sense.  Harry was more powerful than Dumbledore expected, so he was convinced that his little plan had worked.  That was just… so stupid it was sad.

So Dumbledore sent him to the Dursleys, and if he was assuming correctly, the man truly had no notion of how awful his life there was.  Not that that excused him.  How dare the asshole just drop him there and not even check on him.  If that old bastard had ever checked, he’d have known – and the senile cat lady did not count.  She was clearly too stupid to have ever seen the obvious.

Yes, he could most definitely blame Dumbledore for the Dursleys, and that, in his mind, was _way_ worse than the fact that Voldemort had killed his parents.  Sure, if Voldemort hadn’t done that, then Harry wouldn’t have ever had to worry about the Dursleys, but that was pointless semantics at this point.  Choices that were actually made were the ones that had been affecting him all his life.  Voldemort took his parents.  Dumbledore chose to send Harry to hell instead of a nice cozy orphanage or even some other magical family.  Fuck, the Malfoys would have been a better choice.  Yes, they’d followed Voldemort, but with their master gone, there was no way that they wouldn’t have recognized the value of raising the vaunted Savior as their own.  He’d probably have been as spoiled as Draco.  And Harry _knew_ that they were his closest blood relations in the wizarding world.  He’d been able to determine that from the Black tapestry.  Narcissa was his third cousin or something like that.

Or the Tonks family, for that matter.  He had the same relation to them as the Malfoys with Andromeda and Narcissa being sisters.  Actually, the Tonkses would have been a really good choice.

And what about recently?  What had Dumbledore been doing while Voldemort was trying to get a body and kill Harry?  He’d defended Harry this summer with the trial, but that was hardly for Harry’s benefit alone.  If he’d not done it, Harry would have been expelled, and therefore outside Dumbledore’s immediate influence.  Dumbledore wouldn’t even look at him now, for whatever reason.  He’d arranged for occlumency training this year, but he could have had Harry learning extra stuff since first year.  His odds of survival would have been greatly increased if he’d known a little more. 

Harry hissed in pain and his hand flew to his forehead as his scar suddenly burst into flame.  Well, not literal flame, but it felt like it.  It also felt… angry.  Voldemort was brassed off about something.

Harry blinked.  His connection to Voldemort.  Of course.  It was because of that piece of Voldemort’s soul in him!  That was blindingly obvious now.  And another nail in Dumbledore’s coffin for never mentioning it when his scar started acting up.

Harry hesitated only a moment before sending himself into his mindscape.  This was the first time he’d felt the connection flare up while he was awake and private since he’d developed his mindscape.  Now that he knew about and had actually seen and felt the soul shard…  He was very curious.

It took no time at all for him to find his way to the soul shard this time.  He knew what he was looking for now.  He understood what it felt like. 

He sucked in a shallow gasp when he was “standing” before it.  He’d seen the occasional flare of Voldemort’s magic through it before.  But now that the connection was active…  No wonder it hurt like the fires of Hades and made him faint with exhaustion when it was over.  Voldemort’s crimson magic was bursting through his barrier like sunlight through clouds now, and he could both see and feel his magic rushing in to try to stem the leaks.  Every time one was blocked, another appeared.

Harry cautiously took a step closer.  He could feel Voldemort’s magic as strongly as his own here, and that was chilling considering that he was still in his own mind.

He didn’t know if it was instinct or insanity that caused him to reach out and touch that blood-red magic when a particularly large tendril broke free, but the instant that he touched it, he felt himself yanked into it.  As had happened when he’d seen Nagini attack Arthur Weasley, he felt like he was falling down a slicked tube.  He could get no grip to slow himself and he just kept going faster and faster and then…

And then he was looking out through eyes that he knew were not his own.

“P-please, m-my Lo-ord,” a pathetic voice whimpered.

Harry mentally sneered at the voice he recognized only too well. 

“Wormtail…” Voldemort’s voice said in a disappointed sort of sigh.  “How many times do you think you can disappoint me before your loyalty is eclipsed by your incompetence?”  His tone was conversational, and he waited as though he really did want an answer.

“I… I have f-failed you, my Lord.”

“Yes, Wormtail,” Voldemort agreed sardonically.  “Yes, you have.  Again.”

Harry could still feel his anger, but Voldemort did not show it as more than irritation.

“You are a rat.  How difficult can it possibly be for a rat to blend in, in London?”

Voldemort waited, but Pettigrew did nothing more than whimper.

Voldemort shook his head, “Lucius, get him out of my sight before I kill him.  Perhaps a few days in the dungeons will improve on his incompetence.”

A black-cloaked man stepped away from the wall and levitated the cowering man out of the room.

“Certainly, can’t make it any worse,” Voldemort muttered when he was alone.  He then sank down onto his throne and permitted himself a sigh.

Harry realized, with some uneasiness, that though he was in Voldemort’s mind, he was not thinking like he _was_ Voldemort as had happened in the past.  He’d retained his own mind.  Perhaps because he’d come here consciously.

He felt Voldemort tense suddenly.  “Potter?” he said hesitantly after a moment.

Harry mentally gulped.  _Aw, hell.  How do I get out of here?_

Before he could begin to conjure a plan, he found himself roughly shoved into a brightly lit, impeccably decorated… study.

He blinked and looked around.  And found himself face-to-face with a no-longer snake-faced Voldemort.  Just as Severus had said, the man was beautiful.  Even if he did still have bright red eyes.  They somehow suited him.

“How did you get here, Harry?” Voldemort asked thoughtfully, and Harry realized that he didn’t feel angry anymore.  He felt intrigued and wary.

“It wasn’t entirely on purpose,” Harry responded cautiously, wondering if Voldemort was feeling his emotions as well.

“No?” Voldemort murmured thoughtfully.  “You’re not asleep…  And I certainly didn’t bring you here.”

Harry thought about trying to lie or withhold, but then he realized that Severus was going to tell him anyway.  He may as well try to use this opportunity to maybe make nice a little bit.  Or at least prove that he wasn’t hell-bent on being antagonistic.  If he did decide to side against Voldemort in the end, it wouldn’t do any harm.  Harry didn’t plan to tell him anything that Severus wouldn’t anyway.

“I’m getting better at occlumency,” he said warily.

Voldemort’s lips twitched slightly toward a smirk.  “Yes.  So, I hear.  You truly are a talented young man.”  He watched Harry thoughtfully for a moment before posing, “and how did your command of occlumency bring you here?”

“Well, it was mostly you,” Harry admitted.  “You opened the connection when you got angry.  My occlumency just allowed me to find it.  I didn’t quite realize that touching it would send me here.”

“Hm,” Voldemort hummed.  “I must say, Harry, you’re considerably less confrontational tonight than I’m used to.  I find the change preferable, but curious.”

Harry eyed him speculatively.  “I don’t think you’re all that curious,” he admitted finally.

“Oh?” Voldemort quirked one eyebrow, intrigue and amusement leaking through the link.

Harry nodded.  “You’ve been expecting this.”

The Dark Lord chuckled and moved to recline in one of the comfortable-looking chairs angled in front of the fireplace.  “I’m pleased to see that Severus did not overestimate your capacity for cleverness, Harry.  So, tell me.  How did you come to this conclusion?”

“You’ve been trying to recruit me,” Harry said, ignoring the silent offer of the other chair in favor of pacing around the study.  He didn’t dare touch anything, remembering what Severus had said about what would happen should anyone touching anything in his potions store room.  Bad Things.  There had to be a way out of here though.  Their connection worked two ways, so if Harry could get in, he should damn well be able to get out.

“I see that Severus works more quickly than I’d credited,” Voldemort replied, pleased, and evidently prepared to ignore Harry’s careful snooping.  “And what are your thoughts on that?”

“I like Severus,” Harry admitted without bothering to focus on the Dark Lord.  He was in Voldemort’s mind, so Harry was basically helpless here.  Whether or not he was looking at the man didn’t matter.

“And me?”

“Undecided,” Harry admitted.  “I like you more than Dumbledore,” he reasoned.  “But I’m not sure about your politics.”

He felt satisfaction and vindication in response to his words.  Lord Voldemort was evidently pleased to find he’d been right about Harry.

“My ‘politics’ are largely exaggerated by Dumbledore and his ilk,” Voldemort pointed out.

“I won’t try to dispute that,” Harry agreed, though he did note the ambiguity of Voldemort’s statement.  “Assuming that I did decide to join you…  What would you expect of me?”

Tempered triumph flared in response to his question.  “That would depend largely on you,” Voldemort said thoughtfully.  “Your preferences as well as your strengths.”

“Well, I can tell you right now that I’m not a sadist.  I have too much empathy to take pleasure in anyone else’s pain, though I won’t say that it’s not sometimes justified – to some extent.  I also don’t see myself enjoying murder…” he frowned, and amended, “with a few specific exceptions.”

Voldemort didn’t feel surprised by any of that, but he did seem pleased with the last bit.

Harry frowned as another thought occurred to him.  What did it mean that he had part of Voldemort’s soul in him?  _Could_ he kill the man if part if his soul was in Harry?  How did that work?

“I should probably warn you that I have serious issues with authority figures,” he said distractedly. 

Not to mention that Voldemort was supposedly immortal.  Really, the fact that he’d survived thirteen years as a disembodied spirit gave credence to that assertion.  Surely Dumbledore had a plan.  Well, theoretically.  Dumbledore was such an idealist that he might be counting on Harry to mystically conjure some way to kill an immortal Dark Lord – being prophesized to have that ability and all.

Voldemort chuckled and Harry felt his honest amusement.  “Yes, Harry, I had gathered that based upon your actions over the last five years.  You always seem to fight your own battles, even when you are impossibly outmatched.  The fact that you’ve survived thus far is impressive.  You have more luck than I, and good instincts.”

Sod it all, why was he even considering this?  He _knew_ that the thought of siding with Dumbledore turned his stomach.  Knowing that that bastard had condemned him to the Dursleys was enough to ensure that.  Everything he _hadn’t_ done since was just gravy.  That didn’t mean that he was ready to join Voldemort, but it did eliminate one of his options.  If he didn’t side with Dumbledore, there was Voldemort, attempting to flee, or trying to make his own side.  The latter two seemed likely to have drastically shorter life expectancies.

“I’ve survived a long time on luck and instincts.  I’m honestly not sure that I’m cut out to be a minion.”

Again, amusement.  “Well, you’re not just anyone, are you, Harry?  Your name alone makes you more.  The number of times you’ve faced me and survived makes you more.  If your skill and power can even approach such standards, you may never need to be a… minion.”  He seemed amused by the term.

“I have plenty of power,” Harry admitted, just as he felt a tendril of that power.  It was behind a painting of a basilisk hanging on one wall. 

“Oh?” Voldemort asked curiously.

Harry finally turned to face him.  He nodded.  “Severus thinks it’s comparable to you or Dumbledore.”

Voldemort’s brow rose, and Harry felt a combination of honest surprise and annoyance.  “He hadn’t mentioned that,” he said pleasantly, though Harry got the sense that he wasn’t pleased to learn of it this way.

“I think he just figured it out tonight,” Harry admitted, not wanting Severus to be punished for that.

“Really?  How is that?”  Intrigue.

“We took a look at my magical core together,” Harry admitted.

Voldemort nodded thoughtfully, though Harry could feel his sudden, almost rabid curiosity.  Harry had a feeling that Severus would be getting called tonight and Voldemort would likely have seen that memory before morning.

Harry frowned.  He’d know everything by morning.  “We found a… disturbing memory tonight,” Harry admitted, finally moving to take the seat opposite Voldemort.  “May I show you?”

Voldemort’s brow rose.  Surprise and intrigue again.

Harry smirked faintly, “Well, Severus would anyway,” he shrugged.  “I wouldn’t mind discussing it with you.”

Voldemort smirked, faintly amused.  “You understand him better than I’d anticipated.”

Harry shrugged.  “I’m good at understanding people.”

The Dark Lord nodded.  “Very well, Harry.  Show me this memory.”  A pensieve appeared on a table between them.

Harry let out a slow breath and summoned up the memory, dropping it into the pensieve.  “It’s self-explanatory,” he shrugged when Voldemort lifted his eyebrows in invitation.  “I’d rather not go through it again, thanks.”

Voldemort gave him a brief nod, then touched the surface of the memory.  His eyes glazed over, but he remained where he was.

Harry leaned back in his chair while he waited, trying not to get overwhelmed by the sudden rage that flooded through the link when Voldemort must have reached the part about his soul.  Slowly, the rage faded somewhat toward interest, curiosity, fascination.

When Voldemort emerged, he looked deeply thoughtful and his eyes assessed Harry as though for the first time.  “You confirmed Dumbledore’s belief, I assume?” he asked quietly, his tone in no way matching the intensity that Harry could feel from him.

Harry nodded grimly.  “More than half my core is still powering that shield that Dumbledore created.”

He could feel a sudden influx of what he could only categorize as greed in response to that assertion.  “That is very interesting,” he murmured casually.

“I thought so,” Harry agreed.

The Dark Lord leaned back in his chair and studied Harry intently for a long moment.  “I don’t want you to go back to the Dursleys,” he said at last, then amended, “Honestly, I won’t allow it.”

Harry frowned warily.  “I assume that you’re about to offer me an alternative.”

Voldemort smirked at him.  “Indeed.  I would like for you to stay with me.  You’ll receive proper training and we’ll explore that shield you’ve been maintaining – see if we can’t find a way to reduce the drain if not eliminate it entirely.”

Harry considered that warily for a long moment.  The idea of putting himself completely at Voldemort’s mercy did not sit well.  From what he could tell of the Dark Lord’s emotions, he actually meant what he was saying.  That didn’t mean that he wouldn’t change his mind after getting to know more about the nature of his soul shard in Harry.  Or if Harry proved resistant to certain things.  He didn’t like the idea of giving anyone so much power over him, least of all Lord fucking Voldemort.  He did like the possibilities if it did work out though.  Real training.  No more Dursleys.  Ever.  No more fucking Dumbledore trying to manipulate him.

“I’d have to have a few assurances first,” Harry said cautiously.  “Magically binding ones.”

He felt a flash of simultaneous annoyance and excitement in response to that.  “What did you have in mind?” Voldemort posed, displaying nothing more than polite curiosity.

“You have to promise that you’ll never try to force me into anything through magical compulsion or coercion.  You can’t try to take my will away from me, nor get anyone else to do it.”

Voldemort nodded slowly, and now Harry sensed only careful calculation.  Harry wasn’t sure if he’d really planned to do that, but he did sense that the Dark Lord was cataloguing exactly what he would and would not be able to do based on this vow.

“You have to promise to let me leave if I ever choose to.”

“On the condition that you will vow to never return to Dumbledore’s service or otherwise act against me,” Voldemort reasoned.

“Except in self-defense,” Harry parried.

Voldemort gave a conceding nod.

“I’m not agreeing to be one of your Death Eaters, and you have to promise never to try to Mark me without my permission.”

Again, a thoughtful nod.  “In exchange for your training, you must agree to aid me, though you may choose the manner in which you do so.”

This time, Harry nodded, “And I think we should both promise that we won’t try to kill or otherwise harm each other.”

Voldemort actually smirked at that.  “Is there anything else?”

Harry frowned thoughtfully for a long moment.  “Probably,” he finally admitted.  “That’s all that I can think of right now.”

The Dark Lord’s smirk grew a little as he nodded.  “Very well.  My… suggestion is this.  Finish your fifth year.  When the term ends, you will return to those muggles as you always do.  My Death Eaters will intercept you en route to Surrey and bring you to me.  When you arrive, you and I will draw up a magically binding contract complete with both of our terms for our… alliance.”

Harry studied Voldemort cautiously, but the man seemed to be telling the truth.  Now, Harry was aware of the fact that Lord Voldemort was probably one of the best liars in the world, but he didn’t think that the emotions he was feeling from him were false.  “And we agree to take no harmful action against each other before the contract is signed.”

That gave the Dark Lord pause.  By the introspective churn of his emotions, Harry seriously suspected that he was rating the odds of being able to restrain himself from casting any curses in anger.  Or maybe he was trying to figure out if a Cruciatus counted as harmful, as it did no physical damage when used over short periods.  Finally, he gave a slow nod, “With the stipulation that… neither of us goads the other unreasonably.”

Harry almost laughed at the fact that Voldie had made that condition go both ways.  As though there was any danger of Harry harming the Dark Lord in a fit of rage.  He somehow managed to keep a straight face – probably all that occlumency – and he nodded.  “Hopefully, we have similar definitions of ‘unreasonably’, but yeah.  Okay.”

He felt a burst of amusement from Voldemort, but the man just nodded seriously.

“Well…” Harry said after a moment of silence.  “I’m going to go now.  I have no idea what time it is, but I’ve got classes in the morning.”

Voldemort gave a perfect politician’s smile as he stood along with Harry.  “This has been a productive evening, Harry.”

“It’s been a weird evening,” Harry agreed.

Voldemort’s smile twisted slightly toward a smirk.  “I assume that you can find your way out?”

Harry smirked a little then, too.  “Any chance you can try to avoid giving me migraines during class times?”

“Anything is possible,” Voldemort allowed.

Harry rolled his eyes, took a step back toward the basilisk painting, and mentally reached for that thread that felt like his magic.  A moment later, he was falling down that tube again.  It seemed incongruous that the link seemed to be downhill both ways, but he tried not to focus on that inane detail.

When his mind and body were reunited back in the Room of Requirement, Harry shook his head, wondering if he hadn’t just hallucinated that entire thing.  Was it really possible that he’d just had not only a civil conversation with Voldemort, but discussed terms for an alliance?

“Really weird fucking night,” he muttered to himself as he headed toward the door.  It should be plenty late enough for him to sneak into bed without anyone in Gryffindor bothering him tonight.  Come morning, he’d have to put the Gryffindor mask back on.  He still hadn’t the first clue what to do about his friends now that he’d unofficially signed on with the Dark Lord.  Start creating distance between them now and save pain later?  Enjoy the time that he had left before they found out that he’d “turned” on them?  He had no idea.

At least Severus would be happy.

* * *

Severus was in a very good mood.  He’d been summoned early this morning, and had been quite surprised when he arrived to find that his Lord was already aware of all that had transpired with Harry that evening.  Apparently, Harry had ventured into Lord Voldemort’s mind for a chat.

The part that kept trying to pull Severus’ mouth into a grin was the fact that Harry had _agreed_ to terms to meet the Dark Lord and discuss the parameters of their alliance.  He’d agreed.

Severus had long known that it was important to him.  He wanted to succeed for his Lord.  He wanted to succeed for Harry.  Most of all, he wanted to succeed for himself.  He’d not lied to Harry when he’d told him that he’d come to care for the boy.  He had.  Harry was intelligent, insightful, and funny – when he let down his guard enough.  He understood Harry and the boy understood him.  After all he’d told last night, only the Dark Lord knew Severus better. 

There were very few people with whom Severus had ever felt comfortable enough to lower any of his masks.  Some, he could drop in the presence of the Malfoys, but not all.  Highborn as they were, there were some things about him that they could never understand.  That he wouldn’t really want them to understand.  There were various other Death Eaters that he liked well enough, but he wasn’t all that close to any of them.  Only for Lord Voldemort and now Harry had Severus ever dropped all of his masks.

Despite the fact that he was only fifteen, Severus had to admit that he truly did enjoy Harry’s company.  And now, he finally knew that he wouldn’t lose it.  Harry wouldn’t be his enemy.

For the first time in… fourteen years, Severus found himself working to maintain his scowls all day.  It really wouldn’t do for anyone to discover that the habitually snarky potions master had call to be happy for once.  Though, admittedly, it may frighten his students more to see him smile.

“Potter, your ignorance truly knows no bounds,” Severus sneered when he stopped to peer into Harry’s cauldron.  “In fact, it is very likely that you have actually grown less intelligent over time.  Stay after class.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry glared at him in return.

Severus just lifted an eyebrow challengingly, then swept away to berate the next moronic Gryffindor when Harry said nothing more.

When the class had at last cleared out, Severus threw locking and silencing wards at the door, then turned to face Harry.  He finally allowed his smile to form.  “Honestly, Harry, if you keep brewing your potions that well, I’ll have to find more creative things to criticize.”

The boy grinned at him in return, but it was the unmasked version, darkened by the weight of his gaze instead of light and carefree as he portrayed in public.  “Good to know I’m improving or someone might start to wonder what we’re doing in all those ‘remedial potions’ lessons,” he quipped in return.

Severus gave him an amused smile, softening it after a moment.  “I spoke with the Dark Lord last night.”

Harry nodded, “I expected as much.”

He studied the boy curiously, “May I ask how you made your decision?”

“There were a lot of reasons,” Harry shrugged just slightly.  “Mostly though, it came down to the fact that I feel like I can trust Voldemort.”

Severus’ brow rose in surprise at that assertion. 

Harry smirked a little.  “I understand him,” he expounded.  “I can understand why he does things – the meaning and purpose behind it.  I get his motivation with regard to recruiting me.  Dumbledore’s pretty incomprehensible to me.  I’m much more comfortable working with someone that I understand.”

Severus gave him a true, appreciative smile in return.  “Well, I’m sure it goes without saying that I was very pleased to hear of your decision.”

Harry just nodded.

“You’d best get to your next class.  Detention, tonight?”

“Sounds good,” the boy smiled as he started toward the door.

“Then I’ll see you at seven.”

Severus unlocked the door and Harry gave him one more nod before opening it and stalking out as though they’d been arguing.  Severus likewise fixed his face into a scowl as the next class began entering the lab.


	7. Snake In Lion's Clothes

* * *

* * *

**19 April 1996 - Friday**

“So, is Umbridge really not working for Voldemort?” Harry inquired while he sat over tea with Severus.  Harry’s occlumency had progressed far enough that they only spent about half an hour working on it each time they met.  Severus assessed his progress and tested his shields, told Harry what he needed to work on, and Harry mostly did it all in his free time before bed.  The rest of the two hour “remedial potions” sessions were usually spent sipping tea and talking or working on homework and grading respectively.

Severus gave him a nasty sneer in response.  “Of course not, Harry.  Umbridge is an utter buffoon whose only skills lie in stroking Fudge’s ego and annoying decent witches and wizards to the point of genuinely considering homicide.”

Harry chuckled at the rant.  Based on some of their earlier conversations, he was sure that both Flitwick and McGonagall were some of those “decent witches and wizards” to whom he was referring.  Oh, to be a fly on the wall in the Professor’s Lounge these days…

“The Dark Lord would kill her in minutes,” Severus concluded.

“Now _that_ , I would pay to see,” Harry smirked.

“You know, if you asked him, I suspect he may allow you to kill the toad this summer,” he offered innocently.

“I’m sure he would,” Harry rolled his eyes.  “He’d no doubt be thrilled that I wanted to kill someone.”

Severus smirked and they fell into silence as the professor turned his eyes to the quietly crackling fire. 

Harry gazed at Severus for a moment longer before turning to study the flames as well.  Though he never could have believed it even as recently as Christmas, the potions master’s office had become his favorite room in the castle.  Here, and only here, could Harry be himself.  He knew that Severus wouldn’t judge him.  He’d had more than enough opportunities to do that, having seen most of Harry’s worst memories already.  Severus was also the only one besides Voldemort himself who knew that Harry was but half a step away from officially signing his allegiance over to the Dark Lord.  He’d already consigned himself to it.  Only the paperwork remained.  Though it did amuse him a bit that there was literally paperwork involved in joining the Dark.

Since Umbridge had officially taken over the school, these biweekly meetings had become even more vital to Harry.

“Why do you do that?”

Harry looked up curiously at the question and found that Severus was looking at Harry’s hands.  He turned his own eyes down to them and realized that he’d been rubbing the back of his hand again.  He shrugged and separated his hands.  “I had detention again last night.  Umbridge has me writing lines with a blood quill.”

“ _What?!_ ” Severus hissed furiously.

Harry lifted his eyebrows in surprise and blinked at the older man.  “What?” he wondered warily.

“How long has this been going on?” Severus demanded.

“All year,” Harry admitted.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” the man snapped, snatching up Harry’s hand to inspect the bright pink, barely closed wounds carved into the back of it.  Harry forcibly prevented himself from reacting visibly to the rare physical contact, though it wasn’t at all unpleasant in this instance.

“What could you do about it?” Harry reasoned.

Severus shot him a look that questioned his intelligence.

Harry sighed and reclaimed his hand, ignoring the pang of loss inspired by the action.  He knew that he had a sort of crush on the professor, but he was determined to ignore it.  He was sure the man did not look at him in that way, and he wouldn’t risk their friendship for it.  “It’s not that big of a deal, Severus.  You know I’ve endured much worse.”

Severus glared at him, “That regrettable fact does not predispose you to endure more, Harry.  Sometimes you really are deplorably Gryffindor.”

“Not that much,” Harry shrugged.  “I spend the entire detentions fantasizing about torturing her until she’s begging to die, and then torturing her some more.”  And _that_ was one sentence he knew he could never utter in the presence of his other friends.  Even if they agreed with the sentiment, they’d be considerably less agreeable if they realized he was sincere.

Severus’ glare softened only slightly.  “Well, if you do not make those fantasies a reality, I most certainly will.”

Harry nodded and hid a smile.  He was oddly touched that Severus would want to torture someone to death for him.  And that right there was probably all the proof he needed that he’d chosen the side in this war to which he was better suited.

“And I will see that her blood quill disappears.”

Harry grimaced, “No.  Don’t.”

“And why not?” Severus challenged heatedly.  “Do you enjoy carving words into your flesh?”

“Of course not,” Harry frowned irritably.  “But if she can’t torture me with that, she’ll find another way.  It might be something a lot worse.”

Severus jaw clenched, and Harry was sure that he was trying to think of something that could be done about Umbridge _now_.

“It’s really not that big a deal,” Harry tried again.  When Severus gave him a muley glare, he added quietly, “Just one of Vernon’s lashes with his belt is more painful than that woman’s fifty lines.”

Severus bared his teeth unpleasantly, “Yes, Harry.  Your uncle is on my list as well.”

Harry smiled fondly at the man, who responded with a sneer.  “Well,” Harry sighed, ignoring the sneer, “I suppose it’s about time I got back to the tower,” he said regretfully.

Severus sobered and nodded, “Very well.  This matter with Umbridge is not concluded, however,” he warned.

Harry gave a conceding nod and ducked out of the office.  He was still smiling slightly to himself about Severus’ evident concern, when he literally ran right into Malfoy just as he was passing the hall to the Slytherin common room. 

“Potter!” the blonde sneered nastily.  “Wandering the halls after curfew?”  He looked positively gleeful about catching him.  “Another week of detentions for you, I think.  And a hundred points from Gryffindor.”

As though Gryffindor had any points left to lose.  The Inquisitorial Squad had made sure their hourglass remained empty no matter how many points professors like McGonagall tried to award as compensation.  The thought of more detentions though, had Harry clenching his barely healed hand with dread.  He hadn’t lied to Severus.  The pain was inconsequential.  Of course, Severus was also right.  No matter how much he’d been through in his life, it didn’t mean that he _wanted_ to go through more.

But he wouldn’t have to put up with Malfoy much longer.  Pretty soon, he’d be out of Hogwarts for good.  And once he was with Voldemort, he wouldn’t have to put up with Draco anymore.  He’d put that in his fucking contract if he had to.

And then he realized…  Why wait?  He glanced around quickly, but they were quite alone.  Malfoy didn’t have his goons with him for once – maybe he’d been on his way back from the kitchens or something, in which case they were likely still there.  And there were no teachers or portraits around.  And Dumbledore wasn’t in the school.  There actually wasn’t a headmaster or headmistress at all, since the school had rejected Umbridge.  Whatever she and the Ministry called her, she didn’t control the wards or the portraits, which meant that she had no way of monitoring what went on in the castle unless she saw it herself.

Slowly, a smile formed on Harry’s lips, and he watched with satisfaction as Malfoy began to look slightly worried.  He stared a moment longer, then, just as Malfoy was opening his mouth to speak again, Harry drew his wand.  Draco definitely had not anticipated that Harry might attack him.  He’d barely put his hand on his own wand when Harry’s expelliarmus hit him.  He followed it immediately with, “ _Incarcerus, silencio, mobilicorpus_!”

He then, quite calmly, levitated the struggling Slytherin into the nearest vacant classroom and locked and silenced the door before facing the blonde again.  “Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy,” he crooned maliciously as he ended the silencing and levitation spells, dropping the ponce a few feet onto the floor, where he immediately began to struggle in his bonds.  “Calm down, Malfoy,” Harry chided, “or I _will_ petrify you.”

The Slytherin immediately stilled, looking at him with wide, fearful eyes.  Which was satisfying.  “What are you playing at, Potter?” he asked warily.

“I’m not playing anymore, Draco,” Harry smirked, allowing some of his masks to fall away.  “Did you know that I know where the Chamber of Secrets is?  Did you know that I can open it?” he goaded, pouring five years of enmity into this moment of vindication.  “I did kill the basilisk, unfortunately, but I promise you that no one would ever find your body if I sent it down there.”

Malfoy gulped.  “You’re bluffing, Potter,” he said unsteadily.  “You- you wouldn’t kill me.”

“Probably not,” Harry allowed.  “You’re an annoying little fuck, but that’s not quite enough for me to kill you.  I just thought we should take this opportunity to get a few things straightened out.”

Some of Malfoy’s meager courage returned in light of Harry’s confession to not planning to kill him.  “Let me go, Potter!  You’re going to serve detention for the rest of the year for this!”

“You’re in no position to make threats, Malfoy,” Harry pointed out, then took a quick step forward and viciously kicked the other boy in the stomach.

Harry sneered in distaste as he watched him groan and wretch.  “Pathetic, Malfoy,” he said in what he personally thought was an admirable imitation of Severus.  “I could handle that better than you by the time I was _five_.”

“Who the fuck _are_ you?” Malfoy gasped when he’d regained the capacity for speech.

Harry crouched down at his side and met his eyes for just a moment before Draco flinched and looked away.  “I am the snake with the face of a lion,” he said with quiet intensity.

The blonde’s eyes widened.

“Oh, yes.  The Hat wanted me in Slytherin.  But that simply wouldn’t do, would it?  What would the world think if their precious savior was living among the snakes?  What would they say if they knew?  Well, the time for me to care about that is nearly at an end.  I am done putting up with your petty bullshit, Malfoy.  So, this is your one and only warning, and do not make the mistake of assuming that your father or your little friends will be able to protect you.  Because one day, Malfoy, you and I will meet alone again, and when that day comes, I will revisit the Chamber of Secrets option.  Do _not_ cross me again.”

The Slytherin barely seemed to be breathing as Harry returned to his feet and sneered down at him. 

“Have a good evening, Malfoy,” he said pleasantly before tossing the stolen wand into the far corner of the room and leaving the blonde bound in the middle of it.  He left the silencing charm in place as he left the room and closed the door behind him.  He then stowed his wand and pulled on his invisibility cloak to avoid any more such incidents tonight.

Harry spent the walk back to the tower wondering if he was going to end up as heartless as Voldemort if he kept this up.  No matter how hard he tried though, he couldn’t summon any regret for what he’d done to Malfoy.  He was treading new territory here.  Before Hogwarts, he hadn’t acted nearly so hard to pretend that he was nicer or more moral than he actually was.  But back then, he’d been physically weak and unaware of his magic, so it wasn’t like he’d really had the option to fight back. 

It felt amazingly good.

* * *

**3 May 1996 - Sunday**

The Easter holidays passed unremarkably, if you didn’t count the fact that Draco Malfoy had, for no apparent reason, suddenly stopped harassing Gryffindors.  He no longer even looked at Harry in class or when they passed in the corridors.  No one seemed to know why, and Harry pled ignorance, suggesting only that maybe he was finally growing up – an idea that was met with incredulity by most of Gryffindor House, though Hermione seemed hopeful.

It was the evening before the end of the Easter hols when Harry was on his way back to the tower after a DA session that he stumbled upon an unexpected scene.  A strange sound, like a strangled grunt, drew Harry’s attention to an empty classroom on the seventh floor.  He drew his wand and approached cautiously, expecting equally to find the Inquisitorial Squad beating up a second year or maybe a pair of seventh years shagging.  He had _not_ expected to see Draco Malfoy pinned to the wall with a spell while some upper year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws – members of _his_ DA – held him under a tickling hex and launched other fairly mild but extremely unpleasant hexes and jinxes at him.  The blond was laughing helplessly, his face contorted with anything but mirth, tears streaking his pale cheeks as he twitched and convulsed under the additional hexes as they struck.

“Stop!” Harry snapped.

Draco wheezed with relief when the hexes were released so that the students could spin on Harry.  Half of them had the decency to look embarrassed.  The other half, including Zacharias Smith and Roger Davies, seemed to think Harry would approve by the self-satisfied smiles they were sporting.

“What the hell brought this on?” Harry demanded.  Considering that it was Draco, it was entirely possible that he’d brought this on himself, but Harry couldn’t believe the blonde would be stupid enough to take on this lot without backup.  Malfoy had a fully developed sense of self-preservation.

“We found him alone,” Smith grinned.

“Seemed like a good chance for some payback,” Davies added.

Harry bit down on his first three responses, as he often did, and stared at them all stonily for a long moment.  “You’re bullies.  The lot of you,” he informed them scathingly, which took the wind right out of their sails.  “What the fuck is wrong with you?  Are you all planning to join Voldemort as well?” he ignored their flinches, “Because maybe you should if you can take this much pleasure in torturing someone.  Don’t start!” he snapped when Smith opened his mouth.  “I don’t care what spells you were using.  What I just saw was torture.  I don’t blame you for wanting to get one up on Malfoy for a change, but don’t lower yourselves to his level.  Five of you against one.”  He shook his head, unable to articulate just how disappointed he was in the whole lot of them, not necessarily for what they were doing but _how_.

“Who has his wand?”

Steven Fawcett held it up sheepishly.

Harry walked forward and snatched it out of his hand.  “Now get back to your common rooms.  All of you.  If I ever find you doing something like this again, you’ll all be out of the DA permanently.  Go!” he snapped when they just stared at him.

Smith looked like he wanted to say something more, but his housemates wisely towed him out of the room before he could. 

Harry immediately sent locking and silencing charms at the door, then turned to face Draco again.  He hit him with a blanket finite and sighed as he collapsed into a heap on the floor.  He tossed his wand onto the floor next to him and was just on the point of leaving when Malfoy spoke.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why rescue _me_?” Draco sneered in reply.

Harry shook his head.  “I gave you fair warning, Malfoy.  So far, you’ve heeded it.  As far as I’m concerned, our differences are settled.  What I just did for you is the same I’d have done for anyone in your position.  Well… anyone that I didn’t think deserved it.”

“You don’t think I deserved it?” he asked somewhat doubtfully.

“Fuck if I know, Malfoy.  Maybe I’m just possessive.  Now quit your whinging before I decide to pick up where they left off.”

Draco said nothing more as Harry left the room with the silencing charm in place so that Draco could get himself put together without anyone bothering him.

“Stupid ‘saving people thing’,” he muttered to himself as he resumed his trek to the tower.  He really needed to get a handle on that.

* * *

**4 May 1996 - Monday**

“Draco came to talk to me last night,” was the first thing Severus said once the door was secured behind Harry.

“Oh?” Harry asked curiously.

“He said that you attacked him a few weeks ago.  And that you protected him yesterday.  He is, understandably, confused.”

Harry smirked.  He could imagine.  “What did you tell him?”

“I told him that, if you’d truly attacked him, he was lucky to be alive,” Severus drawled sardonically.  “I advised him that you were very likely _not_ exaggerating your threat, and assured him that if you had seen fit to protect him, he would do well to continue whatever he’s been doing to earn your favor.  And I may have hinted that the Dark Lord would be displeased were you to come to any harm.  I don’t expect that he’ll bother you again.”

Harry nodded, studying the older man curiously.  Though Severus was hiding it masterfully, he’d come to know Severus well enough to tell that something was bothering him.  “Are you upset that I attacked him?” he ventured.

Severus narrowed his eyes and his lips thinned in response to the question, but after a moment, he just poured his tea and moved around to sit in his usual chair in front of the fire.  “I am well aware that Draco has earned your ire,” he said quietly while Harry poured his own tea.  “However, it would… displease me greatly if something… permanent were to happen to him.”

Harry lifted his eyebrows in surprise.  “Don’t tell me that you actually like that git,” he frowned, but without any heat behind it.

Severus sighed quietly and set his tea aside.  “He is my godson,” he admitted after a moment, which caused Harry’s eyes to widen.  “I have known him since he was born.  I am well aware of his faults, Harry, but I still care for him.”

“I see,” Harry sighed after a minute.  “I’m glad you told me.  I won’t… do anything permanent to him.  Unless he leaves me no choice, of course.  I do reserve the right to threaten him, however.”

Severus gave him a thin smirk in return, and a nod in place of a vocal expression of gratitude.  He then reached into his robe and drew out an envelope.  “This is for you.”

Harry raised his brow curiously as he accepted the missive.  His eyes narrowed when he saw the seal, the black circle of wax was stamped with a skull and snake.  So, apparently Voldemort was writing to him now.  He reached to break the seal but stopped when he felt the buzz of magic, and instead looked at Severus again.

“He said that you would know the password.”

Harry frowned curiously.  Voldemort certainly hadn’t told him any password, which meant that it had to be something that he thought Harry would be able to guess.  After several seconds of thought, he cautiously tried, “ _Open,”_ in parseltongue.  The seal vanished completely in response and Harry rolled his eyes.  “It’s the same as the password to get into the Chamber of Secrets,” he confided to Severus’ curious expression.

The potions master nodded while Harry unfolded the letter.

> _Harry,_
> 
> _There is a task that I wish of you, if you will agree to it before our contract is signed.  It will benefit us both, and I believe it is necessary before we finalize our alliance.  This letter is as secure as I can make it, and will be hand delivered by Severus, but I still will not risk explaining what I mean here.  Can you reach my mind again tonight?  I will expect you at 10:00 this evening.  If you are unable to do so, inform Severus and he will inform me._

It wasn’t signed, but then, it really didn’t need to be.  He glanced at the clock and found that he still had an hour and a half.  “I don’t have to meet him until ten.  Do you mind if I work on my charms essay in here for a while?”

“Not at all,” Severus said with a faint smile.  “I need to do some marking anyway.”

“Thanks,” Harry grinned, tossing Voldemort’s letter into the fire before digging into his bag for his charms homework.  He loved doing homework in Severus’ office.  Not only was it uniquely quiet, but the man was always willing to explain things to him if he got stuck – or at least point him to the reference he needed.

* * *

**10 p.m.**

Harry stared at the soul shard surrounded by his magic.  That was his ticket into Voldemort’s mind, he knew.  The last time he’d done this, Voldemort’s magic had been flaring due to his anger, but the principle should be the same.  He stared at it for a moment, then took a bracing breath and reached out.  The barrier that was his magic obligingly parted and he touched the magic within.

It felt warm and surprisingly pleasant for just a moment before he slipped through and fell into that well-appointed study once more.

“Harry, thank you for coming,” Voldemort greeted in meaningless pleasantry.  Harry sensed impatience from him and wondered if the Dark Lord had other things to be doing tonight.  Probably.

“You mentioned a mutually beneficial task?” Harry decided that if Voldemort wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries, he definitely didn’t need them.

“Yes,” the Dark Lord agreed without hesitation.  “Severus told you about the prophecy?”

Harry nodded cautiously.

“I know nothing more of it than he does, unfortunately.  The only one to hear the prophecy in its entirety was Dumbledore.  Before either of us commits to an alliance, I think it would be wise to know exactly what it says.  Now, apart from legilimizing Dumbledore or feeding him veritaserum, there is only one way to learn it.”

“The Hall of Prophecies at the Ministry,” Harry realized.  “Row number 97.”

Voldemort lifted an eyebrow curiously, but he was feeling distinctly annoyed.

“I’ve been dreaming of it for months,” Harry noted, intrigued to get confirmation that Voldemort wasn’t sending those particular dreams intentionally.

“I thought you practiced occlumency now,” Voldemort posed.  “Severus tells me that you’ve gotten quite good.”

“It hasn’t helped with those kinds of dreams yet,” Harry admitted. 

“Interesting,” Voldemort said neutrally though Harry could feel that he was annoyed and slightly worried.  “Well, you are correct.  That is the location of the only existing copy of the prophecy.  I can’t risk going to get it myself.  Not at this juncture.  Albus already suspects that I am seeking it and most of the Ministry’s wards are set up to keep out me specifically.  I have no doubt that I _could_ get in and out with little difficulty, but the odds of exposure would be high.  I am, at present, quite enjoying the Ministry’s denial of my return.  It would be inconvenient were they to change their stance now.”

“Are you suggesting that you want _me_ to get it?” Harry blinked.

Voldemort’s emotions were unreadable as he nodded, “It has to be one of us.  No one else can lift the prophecy from its cradle.”

“So, what would you have done had I sided with Dumbledore?” Harry couldn’t help but wonder.

“I was considering several options,” Voldemort replied ambiguously, though Harry got the definite sense that all of those possibilities would have been unpleasant for him.

Harry gave the situation a moment of thought while Voldemort watched him silently.  He was sure that the Dark Lord really did want to get his hands on this prophecy.  It was possible that he could be setting Harry up to get arrested here – given the Ministry’s present sentiment toward him, it wouldn’t take much – but it seemed to him that Voldemort had a lot of reasons to prefer him alive, healthy, and not in Ministry custody.  He figured that he could trust him well enough on this.

“Okay,” he allowed.  “How would I get in and out with the prophecy?”

“Severus will get you out of the school without alerting anyone,” Voldemort said simply though he was feeling pretty good about himself.  “Lucius will then escort you to the Ministry where you will retrieve the prophecy.  Once you have it, he will bring you to me.  We will view it together, and then you will return to Hogwarts with Severus.”

Harry thought about it briefly, then shook his head.  “I want to meet you before I go to the Ministry, and I want a binding oath that I will be returned to Hogwarts unharmed within twenty-four hours regardless of whether the prophecy is recovered or what it might say.”  That was non-negotiable, and his tone made that clear. 

Voldemort smirked slightly and Harry even got the sense of approval from him.  “I’ll prepare a basic contract to be signed upon your arrival.”

Harry nodded his agreement.  “So, when do you want to do this?”

“I’d like to wait a few weeks.  Before the school term ends, certainly.  If possible, I’d like to convince Dumbledore that I’ve turned my focus elsewhere first.  It would simplify matters significantly.  However, I would like you to be prepared to move on this at a moment’s notice should it become urgent.”

“As long as the contract is ready to sign, I can be ready to move,” Harry allowed.

“Excellent,” Voldemort smiled thinly.  “I think that I’ll enjoy working with you, Harry.”

The young man lifted a doubtful eyebrow as he mentally reached for his exit, “Oh, I think we both know that last bit was a lie.”

Voldemort’s smile turned shark-like, and Harry decided that was the perfect time to flee.  

He tumbled back into his own mind and barely managed to duck out of the way when the Dark Lord’s magic flared violently.  At least it didn’t feel very angry.  He figured it was more Voldemort’s way of getting the last word.

Harry laughed quietly to himself as he returned his mind to the real world. 

“It went well?” a smooth voice asked cautiously.

Harry looked at him with a small, crooked smile, “Not bad, all things considered.”

Severus looked notably concerned.

The younger man waved dismissively, “We’re still getting used to conversing without trying to kill each other, but I think we’re making good progress.”

Severus hardly looked placated.

“Don’t worry, it was fine,” Harry smiled more gently as he stood and stretched, stiff from sitting still for so long.  “I need to get to bed,” he stifled a yawn with his fist as he picked up his bag and headed for the door.  “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”


	8. Prophecy

* * *

* * *

“Damn it, Severus!  Do you _have to_ walk so bloody fast?  You do realize that I’m shorter than you, right?  And that if the cloak billows, everyone will see my legs?” Harry groused as he struggled to keep up with the older man.  They’d finally entered the forest but Harry didn’t dare to remove his cloak quite yet.  It really wouldn’t do to mess everything up this late in the game just because he was annoyed.

“Have you ever seen me walking more slowly, Harry?” Severus muttered in reply, barely opening his lips.  “Well?” he demanded when Harry didn’t reply.

“Oh, I’m sorry.  The answer was so obvious, I assumed it was rhetorical,” Harry snidely replied.

“Precisely,” the professor hissed.  “Should anyone see me _ambling leisurely_ into the woods, the individual would be certain to grow curious.  So, _kindly_ refrain from inundating me with your pointless complaints.”

“Yes, oh High and Mighty Potions Master,” Harry drawled, playfully mocking.

Severus made a quiet growling noise.  “I dearly hope you find yourself more inclined to being respectful before we go before the Dark Lord, brat.  He is not nearly as prone to tolerating your brand of adolescent humor as I have grown.”

“True, I’m sure, but he’s not stupid.  He won’t risk sacrificing my value to sate his temper.”

Severus came to an abrupt stop and turned around, grasping the cloak with alarming accuracy and pulling it away to reveal Harry.  “Harry, do _not_ test his patience,” he implored gravely.  “Lord Voldemort deserves your respect…”

“No,” Harry interrupted solemnly.  “He has earned _your_ respect.  He has yet to gain mine.”

“Harry…” Severus protested.

“That doesn’t mean that I’m going to do anything stupid,” Harry promised.  “I will be as Slytherin as possible, which includes self-preservation.  But I’m not going to kiss his robes, and I’m not going to bow.  I do not belong to him.”

The older man sighed irritably and looked none too pleased, but he knew Harry well enough to give up on the argument that he wouldn’t win.  “We’re outside the wards now,” he said instead.  “Take my arm,” he offered his elbow and Harry wrapped both hands around it firmly while Severus bared the Dark Mark on his left forearm and pressed his wand into it.

Half a moment later, there was a crushing, pulling sensation like being squeezed through a too-tight rubber tube.  It ended as abruptly as it had begun and Harry shuddered at the rather awful feeling.  He was still blinking the spots out of his vision when Severus’ arm slid from his grip. 

Harry turned as Severus fell to his knees and bowed his head deeply.  He frowned at the unfamiliar sight of Severus in such a debasing position.  He’d known, of course, having seen the Death Eaters greeting Voldemort in the graveyard after his resurrection and then through some of his visions.  He’d known how they worshipped him, but he’d never seen Severus in such a position before.  He wasn’t sure how to feel about it, but he knew that he couldn’t focus on it right now.

Lifting his eyes from his… friend, he supposed, he noted the presence of Lucius Malfoy not too far away and, of course, the youthful-looking Dark Lord himself seated haughtily upon a throne before which Severus was kneeling.  Nagini was coiled at her master’s feet, her head lifted and eyes focused upon Harry, though she didn’t look particularly aggressive.  There was no one else visible in the room.

Harry instantly understood what Severus had meant when he’d described his first impression of Voldemort’s magical presence.  It was… impressive.  He’d felt it in the graveyard last year as well, of course, but he’d been a mite bit distracted at the time.  Now, it was draped over the room like a warm embrace – dark, seductive, powerful.

Harry’s eyes rose to meet the blood-red eyes of the Dark Lord.  He seemed to be feeling the bond between them as strongly now as when they’d spoken in their minds, but it still wasn’t the blinding agony that had come the last time he’d been physically near the man.  That may have been related to the fact that they were meeting on peaceful terms for the first time.

Resisting the urge to put his hand on his wand, Harry inclined his head just a little without lowering his eyes.  “Lord Voldemort,” he said neutrally.

“Harry Potter,” Voldemort nodded in turn.  “Today’s contract,” he spoke as he drew a scroll from his robe and held it toward Harry in offer.

Harry swallowed discretely and reminded himself of all the reasons that he was convinced Voldemort would be better off keeping him alive and happy for the moment.  Surely he wouldn’t want to risk harming or upsetting Harry right now.  It was certainly in his best interests to allow Harry to get the prophecy for him. 

That in mind, he steeled himself and stepped forward carefully.  He reached for the scroll only to pause before touching it when Nagini hissed in wordless warning. 

_“I believe he wishes for me to take it,”_ Harry hissed at the snake, keeping half an eye on her master.

_“Indeed,”_ Voldemort agreed quietly.  _“Behave, Nagini.”_

The snake’s hiss turned sulky, making Harry smirk faintly as he completed his reach to claim the scroll smoothly.  He stepped back quickly, unfurling it to read over the contents while he maintained a cautious awareness of his surroundings.  Voldemort’s magic felt seductive still, rather than malicious.  Lucius had yet to move more than a small shiver while Harry and Voldemort had spoken parseltongue.  He didn’t feel in any particular danger from the eager, yet somewhat impatient emotion emanating from his link to the Dark Lord.  Indeed, he’d have felt relaxed in the present company if not for the intellectual rationale that warned him the amiable atmosphere could change very swiftly.

The contract was not long and seemed to be basically what Harry had demanded when they’d discussed this previously with the addition of some obligations on his side to not act against Voldemort and to retrieve the prophecy to the best of his abilities and wait to listen to it until they were together.  It would ensure that neither Harry nor Voldemort could harm one another now and that Harry must be returned safely to Hogwarts.  So basically, if the prophecy explained exactly how Harry could kill Voldemort, he wouldn’t be able to do it now, nor would the Dark Lord be able to kill him to prevent him from doing it later.  Neither of them would even be able to speak the prophecy to anyone else without mutual consent, so Harry couldn’t run to Dumbledore – not that he could imagine a reason that he’d want to do that.

Harry read through it twice, but he was convinced that it would provide adequate protection in case this evening didn’t turn out the way he hoped.  He’d researched everything that he could about magical contracts since Voldemort had first spoken of them making an alliance based on one, so he felt fairly confident that there weren’t any hidden facets to this one.  The border of binding runes inscribed around the perimeter of the parchment also received careful scrutiny, but it all looked right.  Harry wasn’t greatly knowledgeable in runes by any stretch of the imagination, but his studies into the subject had provided enough of an understanding to be able to tell if they were right for this kind of a contract or not.

When he finally looked up again, Voldemort offered him a quill, obviously confident that Harry would find no fault.

Harry accepted the quill – a blood quill, as expected – with a glance at the now quiet snake.  Severus had finally been given leave to stand while Harry was perusing the contract, and he was now standing next to Lucius, watching the proceedings without expression.

Not seeing a proper surface on which to sign, Harry glanced at the Dark Lord.  He hesitated momentarily, then boldly stepped forward in order to use one of the throne’s broad armrests to sign the contract.  Nagini grumbled, but not with too much aggression.

From their link, Harry felt a burst of annoyance accompanied by a faint wisp of amusement.  After signing his name, Harry looked up into bright red eyes barely half a meter away.  He met the glare with a small smile as he offered the quill back.

Voldemort stared at him a moment longer before allowing the barest hint of a smirk to grace his too-perfect lips as he slowly lifted a hand to procure the quill.  His eyes scanned down the parchment quickly and then he signed in a hand similar to what Harry had seen in the diary, but more refined.  It was small and neat, elegant but without unnecessary flourish.  Somehow, it seemed to fit the man in a way that Harry didn’t fully understand.

Harry remained at his side long enough to confirm that he had signed his birth name rather than his assumed name, then stepped back to a more polite distance.

Voldemort just stared at Harry for a moment as he rolled up the parchment and tucked it into his robe again.  His expression was unreadable but from their link Harry detected a strange combination of frustration, intrigue, anger, and just a bit of respect.  He suspected that the Dark Lord was confused, not that he was dumb enough to mention it.

He rose from his throne, stepping smoothly over his familiar, and stood just in front of Harry.  When he drew his wand, Harry couldn’t help but take a reflexive step back.  That prompted a sardonically raised eyebrow and a trickle of amusement.

Harry made an impolite face in return, and placed a cautious hand on his own wand.  Voldemort couldn’t harm him at the moment due to that contract, but that didn’t guarantee that the man wouldn’t do something embarrassing just to spite him.

“Do relax, Harry,” the older wizard drawled in a bored tone that didn’t match the amusement he was feeling.  “I need to cast a few spells on you to ensure the Ministry wards are unable to register your presence there.  You have my word that I will cast nothing more.”

Harry eyed the man warily, but then gave a short nod.  Plenty of people would probably think he was insane if not simply stupid to trust Voldemort’s word, but Harry could sense the man’s emotions, and he sensed no deception from him.

The Dark Lord didn’t bother saying anything more, merely lifting his wand and casting.  Most of the spells were silent, but a few were muttered too low for Harry to hear.

He shivered slightly as the magic washed over him.  Voldemort’s magic, he realized, when it wasn’t trying to harm him, felt almost as natural as his own magic.  It took him only a second to understand the reason.  Poppy had said, when he was a baby, that there was a second magical core in his body.  Voldemort’s magic had been a part of him since that night.

Voldemort had either noticed something as well or he was just reading Harry’s emotions but he was giving Harry a very thoughtful look when he’d finished with the spells.  “You’re now concealed from every ward the Ministry currently employs,” he stated neutrally.  “The only way they will be aware of your presence is if they actually see you.  There are alert wards that will be triggered by anyone using a disillusionment charm, but your cloak will go unnoticed.

“Lucius,” he said at last, causing the blonde to step forward.  “Escort Harry to the Department of Mysteries and back.  Ensure that no harm befalls him,” he said very firmly.  “He is under my protection tonight, and I am leaving him in your care.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Lucius bowed deeply before rising and turning toward Harry expectantly. 

* * *

Severus watched Harry touch the portkey and vanish alongside Lucius.He had to admit, this was going well thus far.Harry appeared to be correct about Lord Voldemort tolerating him to a degree considerably above anything that Severus had ever seen of anyone but one of his most favored.His heart had nearly stopped when Harry had had the temerity to use the Dark Lord’s throne as a writing surface.He’d honestly been expecting a lesson in boundaries in the form of the Cruciatus.Instead, Lord Voldemort had actually seemed somewhat amused.

Salazar, he could only hope that Harry continued to judge his worth properly.He honestly could not imagine what he would do if the brat got himself killed now.Somewhere along the way, the little annoyance had grown on him.

“Come, Severus.”The Dark Lord’s voice drew his attention as the man paced toward the door to his study.“They will be some time.”

With a nod of acknowledgement, Severus followed his lord into the study and took his usual seat.Tea appeared at Lord Voldemort’s command, and they sat in silence for a few minutes as they each prepared and sipped their drinks.When it became clear that the Dark Lord didn’t have anything urgent to say, Severus let his mind wander once more.Unsurprisingly, his thoughts continued to circle around Harry.So much depended on the contents of that prophecy.That awful thing had already destroyed his life once.He wasn’t sure if he’d survive such a thing a second time.His only comfort at the moment was that both Harry and the Dark Lord were being reasonable about it.

* * *

Harry slipped the prophecy orb into his pocket, trying to ignore his trepidation.  He was itching to listen to the thing immediately, despite knowing that the contract wouldn’t allow it.  His future, possibly the rest of his life, was riding on what that thing said.  He didn’t much care for the helpless feeling he was experiencing.  He’d spent entirely too much of his life feeling helpless.  That feeling had lifted slightly when he’d entered the wizarding world, but it wasn’t until he started to grow close to Severus that he began to feel like he really might be able to take control of his life.  His ceasefire with Voldemort was evidence of his ability to make his own choices.  If the contents of the prophecy put him and Voldemort back on opposite sides irrevocably, his choices would become extremely limited once more.

Lucius certainly proved his worth as a Dark minion with his ability to walk an invisible Harry directly into the heart of the Department of Mysteries and back out again without even raising any eyebrows.

The fact that Harry was invisible and pretending to not be there made conversation impossible, so it was a quiet trip.  In the atrium, Malfoy gave a subtle nod in his direction and Harry activated his portkey a second time and the hook behind his navel pulled him back to the Dark Lord’s lair.  Lucius appeared with a quiet _crack_ a second behind him.

Harry was just processing the absence of Severus and Voldemort when the former appeared in a doorway off the back of the throne room.

“My Lord wishes you to join him in his study,” Severus said once Harry had met his eyes.  A tiny nod of his head indicated that Harry was to enter the room Severus had just left.

With a single swallow of unease, Harry squared his shoulders and crossed the room.  He slid easily through the doorway in which Severus stood and stopped to take in a room that was eerily identical to the study in the Dark Lord’s mind.  Voldemort was seated comfortably in the same chair next to the fireplace that he preferred in his mind.

“Leave us, Severus,” Voldemort ordered, his tone strangely… warm – as though he really did care for Severus the way the man cared for the Dark Lord.

Harry felt Severus squeeze his shoulder briefly before he stepped through the portal and closed the door behind him. 

“You were successful?” Voldemort inquired, though it sounded almost more like a statement.  He seemed to have very little doubt to the fact.

Harry nodded, reminding himself that Voldemort was bound by the contract to listen to it with him as he removed the orb from his robe and strode across the room to present it to the Dark Lord.  Their fingers brushed as Harry handed it over and he stiffened at the unexpected sensation.  Contrary to the pain he had experienced when Voldemort had touched him in the past, this felt almost exactly like being touched by the man’s magic.  Warm.  Comfortable.  Welcome.

The surprise and curiosity he felt from Voldemort at the contact was enough to convince him that the Dark Lord had felt something unexpected as well.

Neither of them mentioned it, though Harry did take the seat he was offered.

The Dark Lord stared at the orb for a long moment and Harry sensed a combination of excitement and trepidation as well as a strange mix of impatience and hesitation.  His face gave away nothing as he opened his palm and extended it over the table so that they could both view the orb equally as he tapped it once with his wand.

Immediately, Trelawney’s voice emerged.  It sounded exactly as it had when he’d watched her give that prophecy about Pettigrew escaping in third year.

_“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.  Born to those who have thrice defied him.  Born as the seventh month dies.  The Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal but he shall have power the Dark Lord knows not.  And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.  The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies.”_

Harry swallowed hard as the words stopped, leaning back in his chair and using his occlumency to recall it word for word.  His first impression was that it didn’t sound good.  It sounded a lot like he and Voldemort were going to be forced to be enemies.  “Either must die at the hand of the other” is pretty damning, after all.

But he had done some research into prophecies since he’d learned that his whole life had been dictated by one.  What it _sounded_ like a prophecy was saying was often not the truth.  Many times, it was even the opposite of what it seemed.  Part of the problem was that prophecies were spoken.  That is why they were stored the way that they were rather than being written down.  Some words in the English language could sound identical and mean very different things, for example.  Or proper nouns may be mistaken for less important words or vice versa.  The other part, of course, was simply ambiguity.  It mentioned a Dark Lord, but not Voldemort.  The Dark Lord it was talking about may not even be born yet, or he could be operating in an entirely different part of the world.  The mark that it mentioned could be his scar or it could be a Dark Mark or it could be something else.

And was it, “either must die at the hand of the other”?  Or was it “either must die at the hand of the Other”?  Did the “other” refer to one of the two of them or a third party.  After all, Harry himself was only referred to as “the one” or “he” throughout the thing.

And _lots_ of people were born at the end of July in 1980, assuming that it did, indeed, refer to the first July after which it was made and not some other future July.  He and Neville were the most prominent boys born at that time being that their parents were both in the Order and therefore had many chances to defy Voldemort.  Again, that is presuming that the Dark Lord in question was Voldemort.

No, from everything Harry had read about them, he didn’t put much weight in prophecy.  Even if they did come true an estimated eighty percent of the time – the other twenty percent unable to be proved or disproved – it was impossible to judge the true meaning of a prophecy before it had happened.  Sometimes one could guess correctly, but there was no way to know if you were right before it had happened.

The problem, of course, was that it didn’t matter if Harry believed in the thing or not.  If Voldemort believed in it, it mattered.

“What is your impression?”

Harry started slightly at the question and turned his pensive gaze back to the Dark Lord, who was watching him thoughtfully.  Harry gave his reply a moment of thought before admitting, “I think it’s too ambiguous to guess what it means.  Even if you take it at the most literal, it could be referring to what happened in ’81.  After all, once you were in the room with me that night, one of us _was_ going to die.  There was no other way that could have gone.”

The Dark Lord pursed his lips thoughtfully.  “A valid point, Harry.”  He studied him a moment more and though his face showed nothing more than thoughtfulness, Harry could feel the man’s tightly controlled excitement.  “I had our contract of alliance prepared in hopes that tonight would turn out favorably.  If you wish, we can sign it before you return, while the aegis of the temporary contract remains.”

Harry nodded, surprised and pleased at the chance to take care of this now without giving Voldemort time to maybe rethink things or let that prophecy get to him.  Since Harry had made his decision to side with Voldemort, he’d become quite pleased with that decision and he didn’t want to be forced to change it now, even knowing that this would make Ron and Hermione hate him.  “Yeah,” he smiled, slightly nervously, then firmed his resolve, “Yeah, let’s sign it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had to add these last four chapters in a hurry, so if I've made any formatting errors, do let me know so I can correct it.


	9. PART TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fifth year is over and summer begins!

* * *

* * *

**26 June 1996 - Friday**

Harry felt his stomach turn unpleasantly as they stepped off the Hogwarts Express onto the busy Platform 9 ¾.  This was, quite probably, the last time he would ever see his friends on amicable terms.  The next time they met, it would be from opposite sides of the war.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he pulled Hermione into a tight embrace.  She squeaked a little in surprise, but returned the hug without complaint.

“Are you okay?” she asked worriedly as he released her.

A glance at Ron showed his face was slightly red and he’d most likely taken that hug the wrong way.

“I’m fine,” Harry answered Hermione.  “I just…  I wanted you guys to know that I love you.  Both of you,” he stressed to be sure Ron didn’t think he was making a move on Hermione.  “You’ve been really great friends to me all these years.  Thank you, for that.  I’m not…  Nothing could ever change what you’ve both meant to me.”

Ron looked confused now and Hermione alarmed.

“Harry…” she said cautiously.  “You know that we love you, too, but are you sure everything’s okay?  You’re kind of scaring me.  You’ve been acting strangely for months, and now you’re talking like you’re never going to see us again.”

Harry sighed and shook his head, “No, it’s not that.  It’s just…  With Voldemort, you know.  I just didn’t want to risk missing my chance to tell you guys how much you’ve meant to me.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed sadly and stepped forward to hug him again.

He accepted it happily, trying to memorize the way it felt.  To know that she cared about him, even if it was under false pretenses.  She didn’t really know him.  She couldn’t, because she could never understand who he really was.  She’d never understand why he would choose to join the man who’d killed his parents.

“Please, don’t let it get to you too much,” she begged as she drew away from him.  “We’ll see each other again in a month or two, okay?  Don’t worry.  He won’t win.”

Harry managed a weak smile in response to that, but didn’t comment.

“Yeah, mate,” Ron said, awkwardly patting him on the shoulder.  “Dumbledore won’t let him win.  You’ll see.”

Harry looked down and nodded neutrally.  “Right.  Well.  We’d better get going.  The Dursleys are going to be mad enough having had to wait this long.”

They made their way through the barrier and Harry moved toward the Dursleys while Ron headed toward the gathering of redheads and Hermione was embraced by both her parents.  He kept looking over his shoulder at his friends until the crowd swallowed them, and then put his head down and followed his relatives toward the car park.

Harry ignored Dudley’s attempts to get a rise out of him as Vernon drove them toward Surrey.  They were almost halfway there when Vernon announced that they were stopping for petrol.  Harry knew that the car probably didn’t need it, but Vernon wouldn’t know that.

The car had barely stopped at the pumps when multiple streaks of red light invaded the car and Harry succumbed to the stunning spell along with the Dursleys.

* * *

**27 June**

Harry opened his eyes to an ornate forest canopy.  He blinked a few times before a pair of glasses were slid onto his face and the world came into perfect focus.  He blinked a few more times as he realized that he wasn’t wearing his own glasses, but a different pair.  They gave him much sharper vision than his old ones ever had.

He sat up quickly and analyzed his surroundings.  He was in a palatial bedchamber with walls and ceiling painted into a continuous moving mural of a forest.  He furnishings were in dark wood and shades of green that matched the mural and the floor was a mossy green and brown marble that made a passable imitation of a forest floor but for the fact it was flat and shined to a glossy finish.  The lighting all came from softly glowing crystals set in ornate stone sconces or even right into a divot in the walls.  This room was so overwhelmingly magical as to make even the Burrow look mundane by comparison.

Harry was lying in the large bed that was the central feature of the room.  Unlike at Hogwarts, the bed was not a four-poster, nor did it have any type of canopy or curtains.  There wasn’t even a footboard and the headboard was carved into some sort of artistic woodland masterpiece that managed to look gorgeous and blend into the wall mural at the same time.

Seated on a chair next to the bed was a middle-aged wizard with short, sandy-brown hair and kind brown eyes.  As he was the only other person in the room, Harry assumed that he was responsible for the glasses.

“Welcome back, Mr. Potter,” the man smiled warmly.  “I am Healer Bertrand Wardsman.  At the Dark Lord’s command, I performed a medical check of you while you were unconscious.  I am sorry to say that the damage is fairly extensive, but happily, it is all correctable.  I will be prescribing you a list of potions that you must take according to the indicated schedule.  It will take approximately five weeks to complete the treatments.  I will also be vanishing and regrowing the majority of your bones slowly over this time to correct the repeated breaks, virtually none of which were properly set before healing.”

Harry grimaced mildly.  This didn’t sound like fun at all.  And he hadn’t even thought about mentioning any sort of medical treatments in their contract.  He’d stipulated that Voldemort couldn’t subsume his will on any point, but he had also agreed to abide by Voldemort’s directives with regard to his training.  The Dark Lord had pointed out that he couldn’t train Harry properly if Harry refused to follow his directions.  It was easy enough to see how the man could use that agreement to enforce this treatment.  After all, he couldn’t learn properly if he wasn’t healthy.

Not that Harry really objected to getting healthy.  It was the principle of the fact.  He was instinctively resistant to this given the fact that he hadn’t been consulted, or even advised of it beforehand.  He wrestled down his Gryffindor need to rebel for the sake of rebelling.  Slytherin may have been the Hat’s first choice for him, but five years among the lions hadn’t passed without them rubbing off on him to some degree.

There was also the fact that regrowing bones sucked a lot.

“Sounds like fun,” Harry grinned with mock cheer.

The healer chuckled in amusement, “Quite,” he agreed.  “One of the potions you’ll be taking will correct your eyesight.”

Harry’s eyes widened in shock and then fierce joy at the thought of no longer being bound to the glasses that had been his only means to see decently for as long as he could remember.

“The glasses you are wearing are charmed to adjust to your visual needs as the visual correction potion regimen lasts thirty days and will correct your sight gradually over that time.

“The house elves here have been advised of the times you need your potions and they will see that you get them.  They were also given strict instructions on your dietary needs.  In order for the potions to do their job effectively, your body will require a certain level of nutrient and fat consumption.  It is vital that you eat everything that they give you and very little extra.  If there is something you specifically crave, the house elves will be able to tell you if it is permissible without disrupting your diet.”

Harry withheld a groan.  Not that he was a picky eater, but he chafed somewhat at all of the restrictions.  He’d never been good at doing what he was told, but he recognized that, in this instance, it was going to be necessary.  The last thing he needed was Voldemort accusing him of sabotaging his training or something.  “Fair enough,” was all the replied.

“Excellent,” the healer nodded.  “Then I will leave you until tonight.  This evening I will begin regrowing the first group of bones.”  He stood and started toward the door.  Before reaching it, he paused and turned back.  “Oh, I was advised to tell you that the Dark Lord has disposed of all of your muggle clothes and school uniforms.  You can find your new wardrobe in that cupboard, there,” he indicated the standing cabinet against one wall.

“Right,” Harry sighed.  “Thanks.”  He hadn’t thought to mention anything about his wardrobe or a general right to his personal possessions in the contract, either.  He really shouldn’t be surprised that the Dark Lord would find so many ways to be annoying.  No wonder the arsehole had been feeling so smug throughout that negotiation.  Harry had just assumed it was the general fact that the Boy-Who-Lived was signing away any and all ability to fulfill the prophecy in the way Dumbledore no doubt intended.  Apparently, he’d underestimated the bastard.

Healer Wardsman closed the door behind him after leaving and Harry threw back the blankets to discover that he was, as he’d thought, completely naked.  His wand, he was pleased to find, was resting innocently on a bedside table.

With a disgruntled grimace, he moved to the wardrobe and searched out something to wear.  He wasn’t entirely surprised to find a collection of fine wizarding robes in dark colors including black, gray, green, blue, and brown – emphasis on the black and green.  There was no red of any hue that he could see, which seemed unnecessarily prejudiced to him.

For now, he wrapped himself in a dressing gown hanging inside the door and went to investigate the door on the opposite side of the room from the one the healer had left through.  As he’d suspected, it led to an elegantly appointed en suite.

After a luxurious shower in the most incredible shower he’d ever imagined – it was like bathing under a gentle waterfall set to the perfect temperature – he returned to the bedroom and dressed in the blue robes for today.  He felt like choosing a green or black robe the first day would just encourage Voldemort.  He ran a brush through his hair, which did virtually nothing to actually straighten it or improve its appearance.  After a lifetime of dealing with his hair, he wasn’t surprised or even disappointed by it anymore.  It’s just the way it was and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

Just when he was starting to wonder what he was supposed to do next, a house elf popped into the room and bowed deeply to him.  “Greetings, Master Guest, sir.  This servant is being called Thirteen, sir.  Thirteen is being pleased to serve Master Guest.  Master Lord wishes for Master Guest to join him in breaking his fast, sir.  If Master Guest Sir will be following Thirteen, Thirteen will be taking Master Guest Sir to Master Lord’s breakfasting room.”

Harry withheld the urge to chuckle at the excitable creature.  It looked young – considerably younger than Dobby.  It also looked healthy and uninjured, which was a little surprising if it really did belong to Voldemort.  Harry did feel a little uncomfortable thinking of it as an it, but the Roman-style dress thing it was wearing was not really gender specific.  “Er, are you male or female, Thirteen?” he figured it was better to ask now than to guess wrong later.

Far from being insulted, the elf grinned widely at him, “Thirteen is proud to being female, Master Guest, but if Master Guest wishes Thirteen to be male, she will be trying her very best, Master Guest, sir.”

Harry smiled, but choked back a laugh again.  He didn’t want her to think he was laughing at her – not that it would probably upset her, given how most wizards treated house-elves.  “It’s fine with me if you’re female,” he assured, causing the wide grin to grow infinitesimally larger.  “Er, you can show me to Voldemort, now.”

He almost expected the elf to flinch at the name, but she didn’t react at all, but to bow obediently and turn toward the door.

Outside of his room, the forest theme ended.  Instead, the walls were a pale green marble that sloped fluidly into a peaked ceiling that met in the center of the corridor at a height of probably fifteen feet, leaving ample room for ornate chandeliers with more of those crystal light sources.  The pale walls provided a stunning contrast to the black marble floors lined with runner carpets intricately stitched in darkest green, silver, and lighter shades of green.  The walls were decorated with small alcoves holding artistic stone statues of various serpents and dragonkin between a foot and two in size.  Tapestries at regular intervals broke up the hard stone, each stitched with moving landscapes of various design.

There were no portraits.

As they walked, Harry concluded that they were in a castle – though the least medieval-looking castle he’d ever seen.  The corridors sometimes overlooked beautiful courtyards or expansive parlors.  Everything was acutely magical and entirely breathtaking, but honestly not nearly as doom and gloom as he may have imagined of the Dark HQ.  The design did match the throne room he’d seen previously, though that room had darker walls and a somewhat more foreboding feel to it.

Eventually, Thirteen came to a stop at a set of ornate double doors made of the same dark wood that he’d seen on all the other doors they’d passed.  The elf turned and bowed deeply to him again.  “This is being the breakfasting room, Master Guest.  You may be goings in.  Master Lord be expecting you, sir.  Will yous be needing anything else of Thirteen now, Master Guest, sir?”

“That will be all,” Harry smiled bemusedly at the little creature.  So far, he liked her much better than Dobby.  Not that he didn’t like Dobby, but that elf was just way too excitable.  Probably Lucius’ fault.

She popped away, and Harry turned toward the door, mildly apprehensive.  He knew the contract would protect him from any permanent harm the Dark Lord could do him, but that honestly didn’t make the prospect of facing him again all that appealing.

But he’d chosen his fate.  No point bemoaning it when it had barely even begun.

With a bracing breath, Harry opened the door and stepped inside.

“You are officially dead, Harry.”

Harry paused just inside the door.  Somehow, that wasn’t quite what he wanted to hear from Voldemort first thing in the morning.

The Dark Lord smirked slightly in response to Harry’s hesitation, and lifted a newspaper toward him.

Realizing then what he’d meant, Harry quickly moved forward to take the paper and find out what they had to say about his supposed death.

> **Boy-Who-Lived – Dead At 15**
> 
> It is with infinite regret that I confirm that you have read correctly, my friends.  Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, famous for his defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was killed yesterday in a muggle automobile accident as the family returned home from Kings Cross Station.  His muggle aunt, uncle, and cousin were also killed in the accident.  Harry Potter was predeceased by his mother, Lily Potter nee Evans, and his father, James Potter.
> 
> Harry Potter was a troubled boy, having recently made false assertions as to the return of You-Know-Who in what was believed to be an attempt to garner greater recognition for his dwindling acclaim in the Wizarding World.  Now, with the way things have turned out, it’s difficult not to wonder if it wasn’t a cry for help.  As we lay to rest our beloved hero, we must remember all that he gave us and all that he sacrificed to make our world a better place.
> 
> Funeral services will be held on Hogwarts grounds on the 3rd of July beginning at 11:00 a.m. and are open for all who wish to attend.  A memorial will be erected in his honor.  Later, his body will be interred next to his parents in Godric’s Hallow in a private ceremony for his closest friends and meager remaining relations.
> 
> For more on the Boy-Who-Lived’s defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, turn to page 5
> 
> For a detailed explanation of muggle automobiles and what makes their accidents so dangerous, turn to page 9

Harry huffed a humorless laugh at the front page article, which was short due to how massive they’d made the headline, covering virtually everything above the fold.  “A cry for help?  Bloody wankers are just trying to make themselves look better after making me a laughing stock for the last year.  Distrusting the ‘Savior’ is all well and good until he dies a tragic death.”  He sighed heavily in disgust, slapping the paper back down on the table.  A glance up at Voldemort showed him displaying none of the amusement Harry was feeling from him.

“Eat your breakfast,” Voldemort commanded mildly, “then I have a gift for you.”

Harry eyed the Dark Lord suspiciously, wondering if he’d actually like any gift Voldemort would give him.  After a moment, he decided to wait and see.  He might not be prepared to bow and scrape for the man, but that didn’t mean he was dumb enough to be overly antagonistic.  At least, not about trivialities.  He’d save the insubordination for when it really counted.

The food, not surprisingly, was amazing.  A variety of fresh breads and jams and a massive selection of fruit ripened perfectly and cut into perfectly geometric, bite-sized shapes.  Coffee, black tea, and a few kinds of juice also adorned the table in small carafes obviously charmed to keep each at the perfect temperature.  He already had a plate arranged and waiting for him, filled heavily with some of everything in sight.

This was so many leagues above the morning he’d be having at the Dursleys as to be beyond comparison entirely, and that was factoring in his dining companion.

Harry was relieved that Voldemort seemed perfectly content for them to share the meal in silence as he wouldn’t have known what to say and probably wouldn’t have liked most of the conversations Voldemort might start.  Immediately when he pushed away his empty plate, entirely, blessedly full, Voldemort met his eyes.

“Come,” he instructed as he stood.

Harry swallowed, mildly nervous about this “gift” and what would be expected of him, but followed nonetheless.

“This manor is under the heaviest wards in existence,” Voldemort commented idly as he led the way down an unfamiliar corridor that bore the same ornate beauty of everything else Harry had seen in the place thus far.  “You can freely cast any magic you wish without concern for the Trace on your wand.  Even the Unforgiveables can be cast here with impunity.”

“Okay…” Harry said warily, wondering if that was meant to be a threat worked in at the end or if Voldemort was really giving him blanket permission to cast Unforgiveables in his house.

The Dark Lord glanced over his shoulder at Harry with a faint smirk, but said nothing more until they reached a narrow stair heading down.  “Your gift is at the bottom,” Voldemort said with a neutral expression though Harry could feel that he was hopeful and mildly excited.

Harry glanced between his host and the stairwell.  A suspicion of the answer to this riddle tickled at his mind and he felt himself relax a little at the harmless – figuratively speaking – explanation.  He nodded a bit and glanced at Voldemort’s polite face one more time before starting down.

The stairs must have gone down at least two if not three stories before he reached the bottom and there was a sort of _pressure_ in the air that seemed to grow stronger with each step.  He suspected it was some heavy warding and grew more confident in his assumption.

When he finally reached the bottom, he found that he’d been correct.  The gift was none other than his dear family, all huddled together in a small, sparse cell.  They were the only three in the room full of cells, which led Harry to assume the other prisoners were probably kept in a different dungeon.  It hardly seemed likely that Voldemort truly had no other prisoners, after all.

He felt a surprisingly powerful surge of delight spike through him as he observed them.  They all looked so frightened. He knew exactly why Voldemort was doing this.  The Dark Lord knew what these people had done to Harry.  Severus had told him.  Shown him, maybe.  Voldemort was hoping that Harry would try out some curses with such inspiration as this.  Or maybe even just kill them.

Voldemort was a very intelligent monster, after all.

Looking at his tormentors cowering in fear, Harry couldn’t summon any aversion to doing exactly as the Dark Lord hoped.

His shoe scuffed on the floor as he stepped closer to the cell holding his muggle relatives.  They started and scurried toward the far wall, but then he was recognized.  Vernon, assured of his complete control over him, stepped forward and demanded, “Boy!  Release us at once!”

Harry smirked a little.  Then his smile grew larger and he threw back his head and laughed long and loud, right over his aunt and uncle’s fearful demands for him to shut up.  “Oh, Vernon,” Harry said at last, looking at his relatives with pleasure for the first time in his life.  “You truly don’t understand your situation…  You are at _my_ mercy now, uncle.”  To prove his point, he drew his wand and pointed it at Vernon.

“ _Crucio_ ,” he dared to incant.  Voldemort had made a point of mentioning the Unforgiveables, after all. 

The spell was surprisingly easier to cast than he’d been expecting.  He’d thought the Unforgiveables were difficult.  Moody – or Barty, rather – had ranted that none of them could have even given him a nosebleed casting the Avada Kedavra at him back in fourth year.  This spell seemed to require barely an effort.  Vernon screamed and Harry had never heard a more beautiful sound in his life.  He held it for only about ten seconds, fearful of doing irrevocable damage.  Vernon was just a muggle, after all.

When released from the curse, Vernon sobbed pitifully on the dirty floor of his cell.  Petunia and Dudley were too afraid of being next to even move to comfort him.

Harry found a wrapper in his pocket and transfigured it into a thick, comfortable rug – admittedly, it still bore the design from the wrapper – which he settled on the floor in front of the cell.  He settled down onto it and watched with fascination and not a little satisfaction as the man he’d feared most in the world cried like a baby after a mere ten seconds under the torture curse.

When Vernon eventually began to pull himself together after at least five minutes, Harry spoke again, his voice causing all three of them to flinch and cower.  “Let me explain to you what’s happened,” he started.  “You see, when Mum and Dad went to Hogwarts, there was a civil war just starting.  One side of the war – the Dark – wanted to kill the Muggles – that’s you people, of course – and to preserve the Wizarding World.  The other side, The Light, wanted to protect you non-magical people.

“When they graduated, Mum and Dad joined the war on the side of the Light.  Obviously, they got killed trying to fight the Dark and I got shoved off on you lot.

“Now, when I started Hogwarts, they didn’t tell me a lot.  Just that the leader of the Dark, Voldemort, he killed my parents and would kill me, too, given the chance.  So, naturally, I was against the Dark.  They tried to kill me several times, but I survived.  Then, last year, I learned some things and came to an understanding with Voldemort.

“What all this means for you three is that I have, not only the opportunity, but indeed, _encouragement,_ to repay you every hurt you’ve ever caused me.  Now, I know that will take some doing because you’ve all hurt me a lot, but I think I can manage it if I really put my mind to it.”  He smiled at them and assumed it was a disturbing smile by the way they paled and shrunk away from him.

“Now, Vernon, there is one specific activity that you often shared with me but have deprived Dudley of for all these years.  That hardly seems fair.  Let’s remedy it, shall we?  _Imperio_!”  He withheld a giggle of delight as the second Unforgiveable slid off his wand as effortlessly as the last.  He’d heard that to cast these spells, you had to really mean it.  He supposed that’s what was making it so easy.  It made him curious about if he’d have as much luck with the last Unforgiveable, but he wouldn’t find out for some time, he thought.  There was no way he was going to kill the Dursleys any time in the near future.  They had many years of hurting him to pay for first.

“Vernon,” Harry purred at the blankly staring tub of lard, “rape your son as you would if he were me.”

He chuckled blackly at the exclamations of horror from the two not influenced by the spell.  “Petunia,” he admonished when she buried her face in her knees as her husband began tearing at her son’s clothes, “you will watch or I will rip off every one of your fingernails.”

She sobbed loudly but lifted her head to watch.

Harry hummed quietly to himself, vaguely disgusted by the unfolding scene, but too satisfied not to watch it anyway.

 


End file.
